Ciel and Sebastian, His Butler, New World
by JackOwens1860
Summary: New story arc based on a premise that may or may have been done before in this fandom: Ciel and Sebastian in present day London. How do they get there? Why are they there? How will they adapt to their new environment and what does this mean for their crime-solving methods? This is not alternate universe. This is just the future. Rated T for one use of bad language. R and R if good.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: A new day, a new story arc. This one is a concept I have been mulling on for a while. What if Ciel were transported to present day London? How would one explain this presence in the modern world without time travel or other contrived notions? How would Sebastian arrive there? How would it pan out? In this opening chapter I have attempted to answer those questions without falling prey to clichés and tired prose that includes words like 'mysterious portal', 'out of time and space' and 'TARDIS'. Please read and review. If well received, I will likely write another twelve chapters as with my other Kuroshitsuji works. Enjoy.**

 **Ciel and Sebastian, His Butler, New World**

 **Proposals and Lies**

 **Hackney, London, 2016**

The boy had been sat on the park bench for almost three hours now. The temperature had dropped from tolerable to freezing during that time and the flimsy coat he was wearing did nothing. But he knew in a few minutes, the wait will have been worth the cold. The restaurant across the road threw out their leftovers between three and five in the afternoon, but sometimes binned it earlier or later depending on how busy they were. The boy knew that very well after the last few weeks. He had happened across this modern phenomenon by chance one night and now tried to eat here at least three times a week. It was the only filling meal he could get if money for fast food was scarce. The restaurant was doing a fairly brisk business tonight, but nothing too demanding. He had expected the food earlier, but could settle for later if they threw out their famous spaghetti. The boy loved their marinara sauce and meatballs enough to wait all night if necessary. Just after half-past five, the rear door opened and the kitchen staff began their familiar ritual.

As soon as the door slammed shut again, the boy stiffly got to his feet and scurried over whilst it was still warm. He had barely eaten three mouthfuls when he was tapped on the shoulder. He froze in place. The police had sent him back to the care home before. He would do anything to avoid returning to what awaited him there.

"I dropped my keys in there." The boy mumbled already regretting such a bad excuse given his fingers and likely his face were covered in red sauce.

"I would imagine you have no need for keys of any sort." A voice said cheerily from behind him. The boy frowned. It was not the police, nor was it a social worker: the accent was too refined for either of those professions. He turned slowly and was confronted with a modesty dressed gentleman with silver hair and a neat beard. The man, somewhere around fifty, smiled at him in a way that was oddly disquieting. The expression seemed blank and the boy felt a strong urge to flee.

"I'm sorry. I was just leaving." The boy said slowly moving away from the strange man.

"So was I. I take it you enjoy the spaghetti here as much as I do. Would you like some?" The gentleman asked presenting one of the restaurant's takeaway boxes to him. The boy mustered a smile he hoped was polite not nervous and shook his head.

"No thank you. I've got to get home now. Bye." The boy turned his back and began to walk only for his unwanted companion's footsteps to shadow his.

"Where is your home this evening? A bus station? An underpass? Some back alley doorway?" The man inquired without any sort of judgement in his voice. The boy frowned.

"It's none of your business. Leave me alone." He began to take a path to the nearest police station as the stranger continued to follow him.

"I was wondering whether you might be interested in a job opportunity."

"I'm not like that. I may be homeless, but I don't sell my arse for a warm bed or a takeaway box of spaghetti. Go find someone else." The boy said curtly. He was stopped by a large and surprisingly strong hand settling on his shoulder.

"Perhaps I should start again." The man said before roughly spinning the boy back around. He produced a wallet and then a driver's license. "My name is Charles Muir. I am a professor at London Metropolitan University and I am looking for an assistant to help me with my research. Due to the research I am conducting however, my assistant must be a child between the ages of twelve and fourteen. It concerns the composition of the adolescent brain and the changes it undergoes during puberty. Here is my university staff card and the key to my offices. May I ask your age?" The boy scrutinised this evidence carefully. Everything looked authentic enough, but it was not hard to imagine a serial killer also being a talented forger. He frowned.

"Tell me yours first."

"I am fifty-one."

"I'm thirteen. I'll be fourteen next month." The boy said as Muir placed his cards and keys back inside his coat. It was even colder now as they stood there.

"And how long have you lived on the streets of Hackney?"

"This time nine weeks, last year, seven months. I still think you're going to murder me."

"What makes you say that? Do I appear disingenuous?"

"I have no idea what that means but if I were a serial killer, homeless kids who eat out of bins in empty streets would be my idea of an easy day. Just because you're a professor, doesn't mean you can't be a murderer as well." The boy countered whilst hugging himself to hold on to what little body heat he had left. A moment later, Muir had placed his wool overcoat around the boy's shoulders to bring lasting relief to the bitter sting of the night air. The man crouched down in front of the youth and offered him the takeaway box.

"Holding this will warm up your hands. You must be awfully cold in that windbreaker."

"I'm still not going with you." The boy announced as he took the box in his own hands. Numb fingers began to thaw. Muir was still smiling, and apparently oblivious to the cold, in getting back to his feet.

"That is fine. Please keep my coat and enjoy your dinner. If you change your mind and wish to take the position I described, the address for the university and the number of my private rooms is on a card inside the left-hand pocket. Good night." The boy watched in bewilderment as his companion turned his back and quietly walked down the street without another word. He was even more astonishment when Muir, upon reaching the end of the street, turned right and disappeared entirely from view. The boy stood and waited for another ten minutes before believing it was not a trick or cruel game. He glanced down at the box but did not open it. He left the street. He took three tube trains and walked until he was in a food court as far from Hackney and Muir as he could manage without eating. Nestling down at a corner table still in the folds of the man's coat, the boy tentatively opened the box.

It was an untouched helping of the famous spaghetti, brimming with marinara sauce and a clutch of meatballs. The food was barely lukewarm after his journey across the city, but that did not matter. It was real and he was extremely hungry. The spaghetti disappeared within a few minutes of ravenous shovelling. After the delights of a full stomach had subsided, the boy fished in the jacket pocket for Muir's card. He was familiar with the address. To get there, he would need money beyond the few pounds he had in his jean pocket. He searched the jacket and found a crisp twenty-pound note folded in its inner pocket. He shook his head at this, knowing it was only here to bait him into returning. Everything was designed to get him to accept the professor's offer. The boy slept in the food court until told to leave. He then slept in a Costa booth until he was also moved along. Eventually the shopping centre shut its doors too. The boy drew back to the Underground and took up residence near an exhaust vent that shielded him from public view and the majority of the station's lights. Using his own coat as a pillow and Muir's coat as a blanket, the boy slept through the night.

Charles Muir was in his office the next morning when a young visitor was announced. The biology professor smiled as his reluctant ragamuffin graced his doorway. There was a resemblance in the face, he thought, although some dilution of breeding had soured the aesthetic. The boy's dirty-blond hair and green eyes were also the product of contaminated bloodlines. He was certain there was sufficient amounts to make the transition smooth enough. It had not been apparent on the street the previous evening, but the youth had not showered in some time and the pungency of his body odour was less than kind on the nose. The boy placed the man's coat on his desk and stepped back.

"I didn't spend any of the money. It didn't seem right." The youth explained with a brief smile. Muir stood up and inclined his head in gratitude.

"Your honesty is commendable. Perhaps now you might furnish me with a name?"

"Filly."

"Short for Philip I assume?"

"Maybe. So what is this job and what does it pay?" The boy shrugged whilst looking around the office. Muir saw him linger on the photograph atop of the mantelpiece, but not long enough to suspect he knew anything about the boy it depicted. He also showed interest in some Latin books on the bookcase, but dismissed the French tomes altogether in bringing his gaze back on the man.

"I will merely subject to a litany of tests designed to assess all aspects of your mental, physical and emotional development over a period of three months. You may room here for the duration of the research and will be given thirty pounds a day towards food, clothes and other essential items." Muir said, already confident such a lucrative deal would be taken by the boy. Humans were notorious for their greed, something that was proven with Filly's response.

"You want to give me over two-and-a-half grand for doing nothing but tests?" The boy had calculated the net gross for ninety days with startling ease, considering his initial reluctance. The man nodded.

"That is correct. Can I take it you are interested in filling the vacancy, Filly?"

"Do I have to go into care after we're finished?"

"I have no intention of forcing you to do anything other than what has been agreed. So, are you interested?"

"I guess it beats a punch in the face. Okay, I'll do it. When do I start?"

"Immediately."

Two weeks passed into obscurity amidst a battery of written tests and physical games of skill and chance. Filly was confused by the nature of his written tests. All his mathematical exams used imperial units of measurement instead of the metric he was used to. Furlongs and yards instead of kilometres confused him and he scored poorly on the first three days of tests. The same could be said of his English exams. Asked to write his answers in the form of a treatise instead of an essay threw him as did the questions that centred on Victorian novels by Dickens and Dick King Smith, people and works he had no knowledge of. He scored successive zeroes on the first two days and less than ten percent the following three days. His coordination and balance when asked to juggle leather balls, hit a bullseye on a dartboard and throw three punches in less than a second-and-a-half bordered on humiliating. But Muir assured him there was no pass or fail element to these tests. The professor was insistent it was only a study and nothing more meaningful. The boy did not see it that way.

Despite the lack of pressure and expectation, the money and the security of his surroundings, Filly was disgusted with himself. He had never liked losing at something even if he knew nothing about it. So after five days of shaming, the boy studied his sponsor's books and spent hours practicing skills when not doing tests. Two days later he had scored fifty percent on an English paper and improved his maths score by ten percent. He juggled three balls for almost ten seconds and actually hit near the centre of the dartboard. It still felt like failure even when Muir praised his improvements. He studied and worked harder. Seventy percent and eighty percent. Twenty-five seconds of juggling and one bullseye out of thirty. Not enough. Seventy-seven percent and eighty-six percent. One minute of constant juggling with four balls, eight bullseyes out of thirty tries. Three punches thrown in less than a second-and-a-half six consecutive times. Filly held nothing but contempt for his efforts. Eighty-nine percent and a perfect score. One minute thirty of continuous juggling with five balls. Twelve bullseyes out of thirty attempts. Four punches in the allotted time. Muir moved on despite Filly's insisting he could perform better.

They covered Latin and French to assess what Muir claimed was the young mind's capability to learn new languages. Filly was hell-bent on triumph from the beginning this time. He spent all his free time studying for the next four weeks, completely forgetting his birthday in the process. They had never been enjoyable anyway as far as he was concerned. His test scores continually topped ninety percent. He still chased perfection feverishly until Muir stopped him cold.

"I am afraid we must stop the research." The professor said when discovering the boy awake and scribbling at five-thirty in the morning. Filly had not slept. He did not want to sleep. He wanted to win. The piles of books that flanked him on three sides had been devoured in looking for whatever minor mistake in pronunciation or technique had marred his scores. "Your obsession is causing emotional stress far beyond what my research intends." The man added without emotion.

"But I'm so close to winning."

"You are not winning: your neuroses are. All you will succeed at if you continue is to kill yourself. Go to bed. Now." Filly responded to this command by kicking back his chair and upending the table in a violent rage. He glared at Muir who remained impassive.

"So I can lose and go back to eating out of the fucking bins?"

"I do not know what you believe the purpose of this employment is, but it is not black and white in nature. You cannot 'fail' these tests. You can score well or not in them, but you cannot 'lose'." The man told him calmly. Filly screamed at the top of his lungs. Muir did not visibly react.

"I wish you'd just killed me last month." The boy spat whilst kicking the books splayed on the floor.

"I have read your files. I am aware of your past. I will not medicate you like they did."

"You should. I'm clearly crazy."

"Why do you call yourself Filly? It is a derogatory term for a boy your age, is it not? The only thing clear is that you are not a young female horse." The boy understood the word derogatory. He had practically memorised half the dictionary to compete in his 'treatises', just a fancy word for essay and very stupid. He glared at Muir and enjoyed hating him.

"What do you care?"

"These tests cannot continue if your emotional distress is worsened every time your name is uttered."

"It doesn't matter what you call me! Nothing matters but winning!" The boy snapped hoisting his fallen chair aloft and smashing it hard on the floor. Muir smiled at this display.

"I knew someone of a similar disposition. He enjoyed winning at all costs as well. However, he did not throw such destructive tantrums. He liked to be taken seriously."

Filly let go of the chair and sat on the floor. He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. The professor was right, of course. His past did not excuse his temper. Here he was, a guest in someone's home, and all he wanted to do was destroy. He had been fed and clothed and praised, but apparently not tamed. He took another deep breath. "I'm sorry, Professor Muir. I've…had a bad life so far. I'm not used to people being nice." The boy heard the man crouch down behind him. A large hand settled on his shoulder. It felt unusually warm.

"That is not a crutch you can lean on forever, young man."

"But I don't know how to change myself." Filly said miserably. The hand on his shoulder grew hotter until it was just shy of scalding. The boy tried to shrug it off only to find no give in the flesh.

"Fortunately I do."

Moments later, Muir's other hand was inside the youth's chest. Filly could not breathe as the man's fingers closed around his beating heart and squeezed it. He flailed his limbs in a vain attempt to escape as a blinding white pulse travelled down Muir's arm and into his chest, setting it and the rest of his body on fire with pain. Filly opened his mouth to cry out only for no sound to escape. Then he was falling into darkness. The world disappeared around him and still he fell deeper into blackness.

Outside of this nightmare, the boy's body was contorting itself into a shorter, slimmer frame. His facial bones shattered and then rearranged themselves in an instant whilst his dirty-blond hair grew darker and longer. Throughout this whole startling transformation, Muir's hand remained embedded in his chest and the body thrashed and thrummed against its metamorphosis with inhuman strength. The man responsible continued to smile irrespective of the horror his actions had brought on the youth. He found it beautiful to witness such destruction and renewal. It was a cycle he was more than familiar with. Bulging green eyes burned white-hot with impossible light shining forth like torch beams and still Muir maintained his hold on the boy's heart. Less than a moment later, his hand was removed from the chest cavity, leaving no trace of a wound behind. Muir hauled the limp body to its feet with one hand and leaned close.

"Wake up, Young Master."

Closed eyelids jerked open to reveal large blue eyes beneath. There was an audible convulsion of breath before the boy coughed and instinctively shoved off the hand holding him. A brief wobble of the legs was righted before he could fall by hanging onto the nearby bookcase. Ragged breaths followed. Muir waited patiently. Eventually the boy wheeled around to face him. Filly was gone. This boy was younger, shorter, and slimmer. His face was more aesthetic and symmetrical than the other youth with skin like alabaster and eyes that regarded the man before him with contempt. The new boy briefly surveyed the ill-fitting clothes hanging precariously from his slight frame before glaring at Muir.

"What the hell is going on here?" A refined and cultured voice demanded. Muir narrowed his eyes at this apparent miracle with mistrust. He wanted to test the waters.

"Who are you, boy?" He asked feigning ignorance. The boy's eyes bulged in disbelief.

"Who do you think you are addressing me like a common slum rat? I am Earl Phantomhive and I demand to know what I am doing here dressed in these rags or I shall have your damn head for insolence!"

"Here are some garments more befitting to your status." Muir said producing a tailored powder blue suit and white shirt from an antique trunk. The boy regarded them warily.

"That is not an answer to the question I asked, imbecile. Who are you?"

"Perhaps you might be able to guess from how our last meeting ending, Master." The man said serenely. His companion frowned at him. Then alarm spread across his face.

"My soul…I gave it to…you."

"So then, who am I, Young Master? Say my name."

"Sebastian Michaelis."

Charles Muir's face melted into nothing but light whilst his own frame and features underwent a transformation of their own. He grew taller and leaner. His hair grew long and black. A moment later, a younger, clean-shaven man with white skin and blood-red eyes stood in Muir's place. Sebastian Michaelis had resurfaced. The pair stood and regarded one another in deathly silence. The boy smirked.

"What on earth have you done?"

"I have not devoured your soul."

"Why not? After three years of servitude why did you not take your reward?"

"I have my reward, Young Master. I have you." Sebastian said almost fondly. Ciel did not like it, nor this ridiculous scenario. A deal was a deal. He sneered.

"I am not your master anymore. Our contract is done. Why am I not lying in a grave?"

"Your body is, Sir."

"No, this is my body." Ciel said patting down his face and torso, "I would know if it were…" The boy stopped upon feeling his back. His hand manoeuvred frantically around the area. "My scar…where is it?"

"As I said, this is not your original body, Master. This is the substitute I procured to allow your return to this physical plain."

The boy crossed the room, stepping over the destruction Filly had wrought, to the mirror near the door. His reflection showed him to be exactly the same as he remembered. There was no contract seal in his eye, but it was definitely his face staring back at him. "Did you find my twin to enact this sorcery? This is my face, no-one else's." Ciel said scrutinising it for any unfamiliar elements. There were none. Sebastian drew up behind him and divested him of his T-shirt. The boy sighed before extending his arms out. The demon began to slip a white shirt over his torso whilst speaking.

"He was a blood relative and quite distant. I needed a vessel with familial ties to tether your soul properly. Because your soul is the essence of everything you are, once housed back inside a human body, it can terraform its host into the body it once possessed. Your soul has effectively colonised this body and reproduced your human form as a result." Sebastian explained slipping off oversized jeans in favour of powder blue shorts.

"What happened to this body's previous occupant?" Ciel asked as his unwanted butler continued the dressing ritual by ushering him into a chair and guiding his feet into knee-length socks.

"His soul has been eaten by yours. In some sense it still exists, but only as an extension of yours. If you were to vacate the body now, that soul would not survive the separation and he would die anyway." The demon said as the socks were fastened off at the knee. The boy frowned at this bizarre act of charity as buffed shoes were applied to his feet.

"Why did you do this? You had what you wanted and so did I - why bring me back? I am not making another contract with you, not when my enemies are not only dead but likely dust by now." Ciel said. His striped green waistcoat was applied and green ribbon was expertly bowed at his collar. Sebastian smiled at him in a way the boy was not accustomed to at all. If he did not know better, he would say it was joy.

"Three years in your company was not long enough, Master. I have taken four masters since your demise, all of them similar to you in temperament and desire if not age or privilege and consumed all their souls. They were dry and tasteless. I felt cheated by their lack of quality. I kept yours inside me to ferment like fine wine. Your value has only grown greater with age. And I do not need a contract with you: your soul is already my property. I can remove it whenever I please." The demon said slipping the Phantomhive ring over the boy's slender finger. Ciel crossed his legs and put an arm on the chair rest to lean his head against. He did not understand.

"Then why would you serve me if you already have your prize? What possible benefit could you get out of stringing me along like this?"

"The pleasure of your company. I thought perhaps we might assist the new monarch with problems of the realm and begin anew." Sebastian said indicating for the youth to stand. Ciel rolled his eyes and complied, straightening his arms behind him. His powder blue frock coat was put on to complete his transition back to more familiar and flattering attire.

"Are they all dead now, Sebastian? Lizzie? Finny? Mey-Rin? Baldroy? Snake?" The boy inquired whilst examining their surroundings in more detail. The demon moved in front of him, now dressed in his butler's morning suit and nodded his head.

"Everyone you have ever known has been dead for several decades or more." Ciel thought of Lizzie rotting in the earth but pushed it from his mind to pose his next question.

"Did they have good lives after I left?"

"I made sure they did, Young Master. Lady Elizabeth married and had several children. The others also enjoyed long and happy years with loved ones and family." Sebastian answered whilst returning the furniture to its upright position and gathering the books into great piles. This news was warming for his companion. The boy smiled wistfully.

"I'm glad she found another to love. I did not want her to die alone. When did she pass?"

"1938. None of the others or your allies survived past 1950." The demon said now placing the piles atop of the table as Ciel ventured to look out the window at the shower of lights peppering the dark skyline. London had become a city of glass and lights in his absence. He did not like it.

"What year is it now?"

"2016, Sir." One hundred and twenty years separated his final breath and this moment. He let it settle before posing more questions. He did not wish to sound overwhelmed by the situation as it stood. A second life to lead was nothing to be derisive of, not when his final destination seemed to be Hell and eternal suffering. He could at least humour the demon's very human wish for companionship for a time. If Sebastian had gone soft in the decades following his demise, perhaps Ciel could purge it by renewing his contempt and loathing for the creature. And of course, there were worse fates than this. He thumbed the lapels of his coat.

"Are these my actual clothes or more replicas?"

"They are yours. I have all your clothes at my residence."

"And what were you masquerading as here?"

"I was a biology professor at this university. I was known as Charles Muir."

"And now?"

"I am your servant once more. Your fortune is safe as is your home. We may go there immediately if you wish for more comfortable surroundings."

Ciel saw the glass screen sitting in the corner of the room and the glowing red light beneath it. He already knew its function. A name entered his mind with lightning speed, already as if heard a thousand times before. He gestured to it. "A television, correct? A device used to broadcast motion video and sound, the future's answer to the Lumiere brothers' invention." He said to prompt a raise of eyebrows from his companion.

"It would appear your predecessor's local knowledge has already found its way into your mind. Normally an amalgamation like this would take longer to fully integrate the individual elements. What else can you tell me of this time?"

"Enough to understand fleeing to the mansion and pretending it is the nineteenth century is a pointless venture. The world has moved on and if you wish me to engage in your little charade, so must we. I shall need modern clothes for starters, not some dusty old keepsake from your disgusting shrine. You will need to address me by my name instead of 'Master' or 'Sir' since informality is the fashion of this time. You say you have a residence?" Ciel said drawing up to the demon who inclined his head.

"Yes, a modest apartment in one of the more commercial areas of this city. There is a room to accommodate you, but it is hardly fitting…"

"For a nobleman of my standing? Some drivel like that?" The boy interrupted with a savage mimicry of Sebastian's voice that the demon revelled in hearing. He had missed the dynamic of their relationship. There was no substitute for the insults of a Phantomhive. Sebastian smiled and nodded.

"Yes…Ciel."

"Your guinea pig tells me the gentry as I know it no longer exists. So your excuses are worthless. Take me there now. That is an order."

Sebastian smiled and bowed low. "Yes, My Lord."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Due to positive feedback for the first instalment, not to mention favourable reviews, I will continue it and hope it garners as much praise as previous story arcs. Please enjoy.**

 **Ciel and Sebastian, His Butler, New World 2**

 **Resistance and Play**

Filly was wandering in the dark, searching in vain for an exit from this waking nightmare. Muir had sent him here, he knew that much. The professor was some kind of monster and the whole internship a farce to get him here now. The boy refused to lose so tamely. He was convinced he could still win whatever battle was holding him in this realm of blackness. Eventually he came across a door. Going through it led him onto what appeared to be a colossal chess board, easily half the length of a football pitch with ten-foot high pieces opposing each other. Filly found himself standing on a pawn's square, flanked on either side by white pieces. Across the way was the opposition with their own human piece. Safely nestled behind a row of pawns was a throne of gold and sat atop that throne was a boy sporting the crown of a king. There was something familiar about his face. Blue eyes looked at him dismissively.

"I knew you would resurface eventually. The subconscious I suppose is the logical place to find a wayward essence." The crowned boy said with a sneer. Filly was unsure how to react to this bizarre situation or the posh little git leering at him. He could feel himself getting angry.

"Who are you?" He demanded. The crowned boy smirked.

"I'm the one in control of your body and mind. Unless you wish to be caged instead of contained, I would advise you not mount a coup against my will."

"A coup? What century are you from?"

"One where people evidently had more manners if you are anything to go by. You should stay put."

Filly had endured enough of this nonsense and immediately walked forward, crossing two squares. When he lifted his foot to pass a third square, he found it would not move at all. Trying the other one was met with similar refusal. Filly heard the other boy laughing at his inability to move.

"Not familiar with the rules of chess, Filly? You are a pawn: you can only move two spaces in a single turn. You must now wait for my move before moving again." The crowned boy hopped down from his throne and effortlessly crossed the entirety of the board to meet him in the centre. Filly glared at him.

"I know a king can't move without shifting his pawns out of the way. You're cheating."

"I never said this was chess. I only asked if you were familiar with its rules. No, this is my game and I am permitted to do anything I like. I understand you like winning." The boy removed his crown and placed it on the floor, "And that you like to break things if you fail." The boy rolled up his shirt sleeves to the elbow. "Shall we combine the two elements into one big game?" The boy asked taking two steps back. "You can move freely." Filly took a step forward and narrowed his eyes at the smug silver-spoon fed rich kid in front of him. He nodded.

"You think a short-arse stick like you can beat me in a street fight?"

"I don't 'brawl', I box. However, if you best me in this contest, I will return your body to you. But if I win, you will shut up and stay that way. Agreed?"

"You'll be sucking through a straw inside of three minutes."

"Let's just see, shall we?"

Filly guessed he outweighed his opponent by as much as two stone and was at least three inches taller. He figured one or two solid shots would floor him for good. So he went out swinging. But nothing met his fists but air. The other boy was lithe and impossibly fast, able to dodge punches by millimetres with frightening regularity. Filly still had yet to strike him after throwing thirty heavy punches. The boy had yet to bother letting either of his hands go. After putting all his weight behind a hook when in close range, determined to knock his foe's teeth out, Filly got a taste of the other boy's knuckles. He was hit by a barrage of seven punches inside of four seconds, all of them stinging jabs and hooks. He tried to swing his way out of trouble but again found nothing solid to hit. His adversary struck him again, peppering the left of his face with heavy jabs. This pattern repeated itself twice without variation until Filly, exhausted and bruised, collapsed on his backside from yet another impossibly quick jab to his face.

"That was six minutes. I hope you now grasp I have taken control of your body for a reason. I am simply superior to you in every way. You have no chance of beating me into submission. You cannot even hit me." The other boy said leaning over him with a triumphant smile. Filly spat blood in his face. The smile faded. Filly enjoyed seeing that.

"More cheating?" The boy asked his victor as the blood was wiped aside.

"No, you're just badly trained. I was taught the pugilistic art by the greatest instructor who ever lived. So now you will keep yourself quiet and obedient until told otherwise. Understand?" Filly was about to tell this creep to go fuck himself before realising why his face was so familiar. The mantelpiece photograph. It was this boy, the really rich nobleman Muir liked to tell him about at least twice a day. He laughed at the absurdity of it.

"I know who you are. You're Muir's mantelpiece boy, the one who's supposed to have an eye patch. Ciel, right? French for 'sky'. You're dead."

"Your face would argue otherwise." Ciel retorted. Filly considered Muir's research and understood why.

"It all makes sense now. The Victorian-style tests, the Latin and French exams, he was prepping me for you."

"The more knowledge we have in common, the easier it is for me to annex your mind. Your obsession with the tests made it child's play for me to awake immediately. You thought of nothing else but the subjects and skills I have already mastered. Your head was filled with the literature I have read, the sums I have calculated and the languages I have spoken from birth. Your skills at juggling, darts and throwing punches at speed have gifted your body some of the same muscle memory mine possessed and allowed me to augment it to my usual levels of expertise. You make a very good pawn, Filly, excellent in fact." The other boy said in such a patronising manner Filly would have been convinced he was addressing a new-born baby instead of a peer. Filly laughed.

"This can't be real. This is insane. He must have drugged me or something. I'm not really trapped in my own head." He said only for Ciel to widen his eyes in incredulity.

"Your head? You think _I_ would be in your head? You are in _my_ head, buried under the surface. Your mind is too weak a construct to keep mine from drowning it."

"So why not just kill me? The only reason I'm still here is because you must need me for something." Filly said getting to his feet and standing toe-to-toe with his interloper. "You're like a leech. If this is really happening, you're nothing but an ugly, little leech feeding off me. All I have to do is find a flame hot enough to burn you off. I will find a way out of here. Whether it's real or not, I will get back to where I'm going." The boy announced defiantly. Ciel sneered.

"As I understand you have nowhere to go. But, regardless of your lack of direction, I can't permit you to run about trying to dislodge me." Suddenly Filly found himself trapping inside a standing cage made of solid diamond. "Ostentatious I know, but it is the hardest substance found in nature and therefore perfect to hold a gnat like you. Stay here. I'll be back later. It's about time I woke up."

Ciel awoke before Filly could issue a reply. He smiled in glancing over at the digital alarm clock on his bedside table and seeing it was a shade over six-thirty in the morning. He had slept very well and got out of bed without any of his usual lethargy. He opened the door and found Sebastian preparing to knock on it. The demon was sporting a dressing gown, pyjamas and slippers whilst carrying a sterling silver tea tray in one hand. He seemed surprised.

"Good morning…Ciel. I had not expected you to wake without assistance." Sebastian was still having difficulty dispensing with officialdom and calling him by name. Ciel rolled his eyes at this attempt to resume a long-dead ritual between them.

"We are done being master and servant. I do not need you to wake me, make me breakfast, bring me tea, bathe me, dress me or brush my damn teeth. If Filly is capable of all these feats with his intellect and upbringing, then so am I. Get out the way so I can go shower. Now." Sebastian complied amicably enough, stepping aside.

"Well shall I throw this morning's salmon and eggs Florentine away then?"

"Unless you want to eat them." The boy said slamming the bathroom door shut.

Ciel found taking a shower both alien and familiar simultaneously. They had existed back then but he had naturally preferred a bath. He found it easy to operate the controls, to use shower gels and shampoo to clean his body as thoroughly as Sebastian had ever managed. Filly knew how to tackle the problem so he did too. After his shower, the boy donned his newly purchased clothes from Covent Garden's endless ream of designer shops. He had thought denim to be the domain of dock workers and sailors, but liked his form-hugging Levi jeans as he did the cable-knit burgundy sweater from Jack Wills. Filly knew little of fashion beyond the fact jeans were 'cool' and shorts were for 'little kids' but it was enough to act on. Sebastian had purchased almost two-thousand pounds worth of clothing last night at Ciel's say-so to leave the boy feeling less like a ghost.

Ciel entered the modern steel and granite kitchen and immediately gathered materials for concocting scrambled eggs on toast, the only dish Filly could actually make well. He put the bread into the four-slice chrome toaster, heated up some butter and olive oil in a pan and followed all the instructions he had extracted from Filly's memories. Although when he finished it marked his first successful cooking venture of any kind, Ciel was nonplussed in taking a bite and finding it not only edible but fairly tasty. Filly had made this dozens of times before so a certain quality was expected and met, nothing more. The boy carried the remainder of his breakfast into the living room.

The demon was still in a dressing gown whilst sitting upright on a cream upholstered sofa as he wandered in. Sebastian was using an Apple-brand laptop, a company Filly appeared to know much about, whilst the tea tray and its paraphernalia lay atop of a glass coffee table untouched. Ciel snatched the laptop off him on his way to the opposite sofa.

"Go do the washing-up." The boy said sitting down and pouring himself a cup of earl grey from the tea-set. He glanced over at the demon who regarded him with visible amusement.

"Your newfound independence does not extend to tidying up after yourself?"

"I assumed you would be pleased someone actually made use of your kitchen for a change." Ciel replied placing the laptop on the table and sipping his tea. "Clean it or don't. Just know I will not be doing so." The demon casually rose to his feet and left the room. A moment later, the boy heard the taps begin to run. He intended to research Lizzie using Filly's expertise of the internet only to find Sebastian had already done so. The browser was currently displaying a biography of her life that featured a photograph of her as a mature woman. She looked very beautiful, perhaps even more so than he remembered her being. He read the article, happy his death only garnered one line and did not mention him by name, referring only to a childhood fiancé. It meant his death had little impact on her enjoyment of life. She had six children, four boys and two girls. Her oldest son was called Ciel. He liked the tribute. It said she died of natural causes at her home, aged 62. She had been a life-long socialite and philanthropist in the vein of her husband, a Lord Randall Cairn. Ciel was about to search for his servants when he noticed another tab.

Opening it brought him to YouTube and a video of an elderly woman awaiting playback. Ciel scanned the video's title: Lady Cairn interview 1936. The boy clicked on it and waited. After preliminary questions from the interviewer concerning her charitable work and tragic death of her husband from cancer, she was asked whether or not she had any regrets about her life. Her still bright smile became melancholic.

"I married the man I loved and I was very happy with him in my life. But he was only the man I loved because the boy I had loved before him never got the chance to be that man. If my darling Ciel had lived, I would have been his forever. And we would have had such grand adventures together." Her voice was reedy on her final sentence before failing her completely as she began to cry quietly. The interviewer comforted her. She managed to wipe away the tears and laugh. "I know it's ridiculous to be crying about him almost half-a-century later, especially when I have had such a happy life, but there you are. That is how much of an impact he had on my life: just the thought of him brings an old lady to tears. That is how you know when someone is special, when their name alone can make you weep." The video mercifully stopped after that. Ciel brushed his own tears aside as Sebastian returned from the kitchen.

"Why did you show me this?" He asked still trying to compose himself. The demon smiled in crossing the room and putting a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"To ensure you really were Ciel Phantomhive and not merely a very good imitation."

"And for this you tear my heart asunder? You are…"

"Now convinced you are the same boy I recall from long ago. You must understand such a feat has never been performed before. A demon has never surrendered a human soul once attained or attempted to put it back into a human host. The whole enterprise of your resurrection had no frame of reference for me to follow. Why else would it take me over a century to bring my plans to fruition? I have studied and researched for decades to find myself at this moment. I have had to invent practices to bind your soul over another, to create techniques to amalgamate two souls into one and even then I was unsure this would not produce an abomination or gestalt entity that was neither one soul nor the other. This video and its profound effect on you can be considered an acid test to ensure you are Ciel Phantomhive and you are human. I will not subject you to such cruelty again, I promise." Sebastian explained calmly without relinquishing his grip on the boy's shoulder. Ciel was privately amazed by the demon's dedication to bringing him back. He still did not understand why he had bothered.

"Three years waiting on me hand and foot and being treated like dirt were worth more than a century of toil for me to do it all over again? Have you forgotten you are a demon or simply gone potty?" The boy asked wiping away the last remnants of his tears. Sebastian smiled.

"Neither. You are the only master whose name I remember. You are the only master with a will powerful enough to summon me whilst still a child. You are the only master to accept his end without complaint, pleading or tears. You are the only human being I have ever lamented the absence of. You are the only creature who can allow me to get so close and remain distant and intriguing at the same time. For these reasons and many hundreds of others, I have brought you back to this plain of existence. Should I go on or stop?"

"Please don't bore me with any more of your rhetoric. You're worse than the Viscount." Ciel said with a smile totally at odds with the sentiment of his words. He had changed the nature of a demon. It was unprecedented and made me feel strangely proud and warm inside. Sebastian seemed to understand and withdrew his hand.

"As you wish. Please go back to your breakfast." The demon said returning to his seat and turning on the fifty-inch flat screen in the far corner. The news broadcaster was summarising current affairs. Filly had no knowledge of global issues to draws upon so the boy watched it along with his companion whilst eating. Ciel considered something.

"Thank you for wanting me here so badly. It…means a great deal to me." The boy admitted. Sebastian smiled graciously at him.

"It means a great deal to me too."

Silence resumed as the presenter continued his summary uninterrupted. The boy found the world was still as chaotic an environment as he remembered, full of wars, riots and massacres as well as technological advancements. He supposed there was still a need for someone like him. That was a gratifying thought. He mused on his companion's barb concerning cleaning up his own messes.

"If neither of us will serve the other, we shall make a cleaning rota. I'll draw it up for us."

"You are too kind…Ciel."

It occurred to Ciel when they were walking around Knightsbridge where Sebastian's 'modest' apartment was situated that he had no idea of his company's fate. When he posed the question to his companion on route to the district's tube station, the demon explained it had ceased making confectioneries and traditional toys. Instead it made high-end video games and gaming accessories. When pressed for its annual profits, Sebastian calmly stated they exceeded one billion pounds. Naturally his following questions asked about its ownership. The demon said a man called Arnold Radley had bought the company from the Phantomhive estate with Tanaka's approval as executor. Thereafter the notoriously private businessman and his descendants had steered the company through war and the ever-changing landscape of the modern world to ensure profits were always made. Ciel asked point-blank if this mysterious man was another of Sebastian's aliases. The demon admitted it was. They exited from the Piccadilly Line at Piccadilly Circus and sat on the steps of the Shaftesbury Memorial looking out over the neon forest.

"How could you run my company without a master? Surely you would have faded back to the darkness until called again." Ciel said, unfamiliar with every sight and sound that met his ears. Filly had apparently never set foot here in his life. Ciel felt the same.

"I can only fade back if I consummate the contract. Since I did not eat your soul, I could remain in this plain of existence. However, without your acknowledgement of my identity as Sebastian Michaelis, I was unable to continue using his form since he is your creation and had to assume another. I used the fears of the Funtom Company investors to manifest as their saviour, Arnold Radley, since they had such a clear picture of what he should have looked like." Sebastian gestured to the London Pavilion. "Do you recall the Pavilion performance we attended? It was a music hall during your lifetime. We were pursuing a lead for our investigations."

"Trying to give me a point of reference for this alien world? A lot has changed in a century, more than I would have anticipated." Ciel responded before considering what little had gleaned of Filly's limited knowledge of twentieth century history. "Tell me about the two World Wars that took place. Filly's knowledge of the conflicts is very basic and vague. He knows the dates and that millions of people died in each, but little else. Were you involved in them at all?"

"Two of my masters after you were soldiers in those conflicts. Both of them were cavalry officers of noble birth, as I am certain you would have been had you lived. In each instance, I was summoned by their desperation to survive horrible battles." Ciel found this somewhat contradictory considering the nature of their agreement.

"You could make new contracts without closing the old one?"

"An occult loophole that has never been uncovered by demons because we have never refused a meal. Your physical death freed me from your service and allowed me to serve another. What would you like to know about the wars?"

"Everything."

They moved from Piccadilly to Trafalgar Square where Sebastian led him to the Cenotaph on Whitehall Road. During the journey, the demon laid out the facts of both wars, casualty lists and the effect both conflicts had on eroding the British Empire and its status as a global power. Ciel listened in silence to the cost of peace. It seemed unfathomable when he thought of how tame Waterloo and the Crimean's casualties were by comparison. They had evidently grown more proficient at meting out death since his heyday. He frowned at the inscription on the Cenotaph that stated it was dedicated to the 'glorious dead'.

"Was it glorious?" He asked his companion as they both regarded the monument.

"No. It was…wasteful." Sebastian said after a moment of thought. They moved on.

Ciel was tired of seeing places he had no frame of reference for. The only thing other than intricate knowledge of the Underground that Filly could really tell him about was Hackney. Filly seemed to know almost everything about the London borough and the boy was curious whether he would feel more at home walking its streets than his old stomping grounds. They took the Underground to Manor House on the fringes of the borough and walked into Hackney where Ciel instantly recognised almost every street, shop and alleyway he came across as if he had spent all his life here. Filly was beginning to prove his worth as a host when they entered a stretch of the borough he knew colloquially as 'Murder Mile' due to its high-crime rates. Despite having an entirely new world to explore and come to terms with, the boy was eager to be embroiled in another investigation. London may have been rebuilt to give the impression of a glass utopia, but underneath the veneer Ciel knew it was as sordid as ever.

"There was one thing about your apartment I found curious." The boy commented as they approached a familiar-looking Italian restaurant opposite a small park.

"What might that be, Ciel?" Sebastian said, his voice more relaxed with saying his companion's name after hours of conversation.

"You had no cats. I had assumed your residence would be swarming with the fleabags as your room was below stairs." The boy explained as they stopped outside the restaurant. Sebastian smiled genially.

"I had kept at least one cat for the last century up until I made Filly's acquaintance at this very spot six weeks ago. Finny the Eighth had to be put down I am sad to say. He was very ill." Ciel smirked at his naming conventions. He suspected there were several Baldroys, Mey-Rins and Snakes along the decades as well.

"Do you even know how strange you are sometimes? A demon who keeps cats and resurrects the long dead is hardly in keeping with tradition." The boy remarked before surveying the bins behind the restaurant with an interest he inwardly found disgusting but could not help. Finny seemed to view them as a holy grail of sorts, a belief Ciel pitied. As his gaze began drifting back to Sebastian, something caught his eye. At the base of the bins, poking out on the right was a bare human foot. He wordlessly moved towards this unnatural sight until he could see the bigger picture. Sprawled behind the bins was a naked human body of a man in his early thirties, with thick brown hair and a lean, muscular build.

There were no obvious signs of trauma to explain his death, nor any obvious means to establish his identity. Ciel manoeuvred within touching distance almost automatically, crouching down to make a more intimate appraisal. The body was stiff, indicating it was still in rigor mortis. The boy knew that meant little given the freezing temperatures could easily prolong the process for days, but suspected the body had not been here long. This was due to the fact the skin of the corpse was warmer than its surroundings, suggesting it had only recently been dumped, likely from somewhere indoors. There were no defensive wounds on the arms or bruises to suspect the victim had put up any resistance to their killer's actions. They were likely sedated or knocked unconscious when murdered. A puncture wound on the left side of the neck supported this. Turning the body from its flat position to the side revealed a single, high stab wound on the right of the back, just below the chest line. Ciel knew from experience the knife had cut through the liver and the victim had died over a period of several hours.

"What do you think?" The boy asked his companion.

"I think you'd better come with us, Sunshine."

Ciel glanced over his shoulder and was confronted by the sight of two plain-clothes detectives displaying their warrant cards. Sebastian was nowhere to be seen. The boy stood up slowly.

"Don't try to run, lad. Only makes you look guilty." The younger and fresher-looking of the pair cautioned him. Ciel was incredulous: back a day and already being implicated in a murder.

"Surely you can't think I committed this crime?"

The policemen exchanged bemused glances. "That's weird, isn't Errol? A Wednesday morning, a lad playing truant near an anonymous tip-off, and he uses proper grammar." The older man said to his colleague. Errol nodded in agreement.

"Speaks like the Queen too, Guv."

"Not a Hackney boy then, eh?"

"Wouldn't say so. Look at what he's wearing: must cost more than our monthly salaries combined if that's a real Rolex on his wrist." Errol said gesturing to the wristwatch Sebastian had given him to wear earlier that morning. Ciel had assumed it was an inconspicuous timepiece, not something that drew attention to him. But Filly had seen this timepiece in a window before, Ciel was quick to discover. According to his memories, it was worth just shy of ten-thousand pounds. The boy sighed lethargically. This almost felt staged by that damn demon.

"You're definitely coming with us, Sunshine. Get in the car. Send uniforms to cordon off the area and get the SOCO down here sharpish."

"Yes, Guv."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: The narrative is beginning to progress nicely now. This chapter, as in my other story arcs, helps to establish the plot that will drive the remainder of the story. Please continue to review so I am aware if the way this story is unfolding seems plausible. And thank you to those who have given such positive feedback so far. I am very grateful for it. Enjoy.**

 **Ciel and Sebastian, His Butler, New World 3**

 **Policemen and Pokers**

"Surely this is illegal?" Ciel said as he sat in an interrogation room opposite the two detectives. "What am I being charged with, loitering?"

"You're not being charged, Sunshine. We just want to have a little chat and to obviously get the contact details to get your parents or legal guardian down here to pick you up." The older detective said with a smile that was not friendly. Errol, his subordinate, had a pen and paper ready. "So, what's your name?"

"Ciel." The pair again exchanged glances of bemusement at this. Ciel frowned. "What?"

"Is that English?" Errol asked without writing anything down. The boy rolled his eyes.

"No, it's French. It means 'sky'."

"You don't sound French."

"I'm not. I take it this is an unusual name around here?"

"You being white around here is unusual. Your name's just plain weird." Errol informed him. Ciel had noted his skin colour in passing, but only just realised both detectives were black. He suddenly felt very out of place sat there. Filly's knowledge of the area assured him this was normal. The boy had apparently been quizzed by the police many times. The older detective dismissed this line of inquiry with a hand gesture.

"Let's move on to a last name now. What is it?"

Sebastian had not furnished him with a new identity or cover story, although with his string of aliases the boy imagined it would have been a fairly easy task. In lieu of convincing lies, Ciel opted to tell the truth.

"Phantomhive."

The older detective looked slightly astonished by this. The boy had thought for certain everybody had forgotten his family in all the excitement of the past century. Anonymity was a luxury he had been enjoying until now.

"You're Ciel Phantomhive? The boy detective?" The older detective said to surprise their witness. Ciel frowned when Errol joined his superior in fish-like gawping at him.

"Sorry, am I to understand you've heard of me?"

"Our superintendent is always banging on about how many cases you've helped him close in the last couple of years. I didn't think you were this young. You can't be more than thirteen." The senior detective explained whilst leaning over the table and offering a hand, "DCI Harry Marsh and this is my colleague DI Errol Flynn." Ciel shook the hand graciously enough. Suddenly their whole dynamic had changed. Whatever menace they were planning to unleash upon him seemed to evaporate. The boy could not help be confused by this transformation on the strength of his name alone.

"Does that mean you know who my guardian is?"

"Yeah of course: you're DCI Michaelis' kid." Marsh said without any kind of hesitation, "He's got the highest conviction rate in the department, almost sixty percent. He always gives you credit for his breakthroughs. How is he anyway? It's supposed to be his first day back after the…incident, but he still isn't about." The man asked whilst turning to his colleague who also seemed eager to chat.

"How's he looking after the surgery? I know it's wrong to ask, but they didn't…mess up his face too much, did they?"

"No, if anything, it is an improvement." Sebastian's voice said from behind the boy as the door swung open. Both detectives stood up as the demon rounded the table to shake his hand. Marsh looked horrified.

"Bloody hell, Seb: you're as white as a sheet, mate. You not seen sunlight for a thousand years?" The older detective remarked clasping his hand in a firm, prolonged handshake. Sebastian inclined his head.

"The doctors said the skin grafts would take a few weeks to get proper blood flow again. What do you think?"

"You look a lot younger than I do. That fireball might be the best thing to happen to you in ten years since it's helped take them all off." Marsh responded with a smirk, "I might go in for a bit of amateur bomb disposal myself if this is the result." Sebastian smiled back before looking at Errol.

"How are you Rolly? " The demon asked the younger man as Marsh released his hand and let his subordinate get in on the action.

"Very well, thank you, Sir. Good to see you back on the job. Are those contacts?"

"Yes. They're just another precaution until the doctors say otherwise."

Pleasantries exchanged, all three turned their gazes onto Ciel who was not impressed by discovering his companion had yet another identity to slip into at a moment's notice. No wonder he had worn such an ordinary suit today. How else would he fit into this environment so neatly? His language and accent had changed too. It was very convincing.

"I see you've met my lovely lad." Sebastian said with bright eyes. Ciel rolled his in lethargy. Of course it had all been staged. The demon had planned this moment meticulously so that any awkwardness of his involvement with this world was expunged. Marsh nodded.

"Oh yes. Found him sniffing around our boy's latest victim just down the way. He's a posh, little git, isn't he? I mean, I know you said he was privately educated, but I can practically taste the silver when he speaks." Ciel scowled at the trio as they enjoyed a little chuckle together. He stood up.

"I don't appreciate being mocked." The boy snapped. Marsh held up his hands in apology.

"Sorry, Sunshine, didn't mean to rattle your cage like that. You're just not what we expected. That's all."

"How come he's out and about on a school day, Sir? It was all a bit suspicious finding him in that alley." Errol asked before tensions between them could go any higher.

"He was walking me to work. I stopped to deal with some idiots vandalising the park across the road from Mariano's and when I came back, the area was cordoned off and he was nowhere to be seen. At present, his academy is on leave." The demon explained calmly. He had obviously mastered lying in the last ten decades as well as closer approximation of human beings in behaviour and mannerisms: both his colleagues seemed to genuinely like and respect him. "Are you still on Hackney's Surgeon? He's been on the go since last October. How many victims now?"

"This one will make seven, Sir." Errol answered. "Always the same MO and as always, no witnesses."

"Have you identified the latest victim yet?"

"They're still processing the body down the morgue. We'll have an ID after running the prints and DNA."

"Do you mind if I take a look?" Sebastian asked. Marsh shrugged.

"Not at all, mate. What about your lad though?"

"I think he can come take a look, since he was already inspecting it when you got there."

"That's not really procedure with minors, Guv." Errol said in a measured tone. Ciel could clearly see the younger man was a voice of common sense here. Marsh adopted an expression that said he sided with his subordinate on the issue. Sebastian's smile did not fade.

"I cleared it with the superintendent on my way in. He says Ciel's welcome to look as long as there's consent from his legal guardian. I've already signed the disclaimer so the station can't get blamed if he sees anything traumatic." The demon said presenting Marsh with the necessary paperwork from his jacket pocket. The older man examined it closely.

"Sounds like bad parenting, Seb. You sure he can handle this?"

"Yes, I'm certain I can." Ciel said to remind them he was still very much in the room. Sebastian's hand settled on his shoulder.

"Yes, so am I. Shall we?"

The Medical Examiner was not thrilled about the boy's presence until Sebastian explained who he was. At that point, the stern countenance of the wizened pathologist gave way to a pleasant smile. He introduced himself as Doctor Finch and complemented Ciel on identifying vital forensic evidence in several investigations the boy had no part in or ever heard of. Obviously now in the epicentre of the demon's carefully constructed web of lies, Ciel played along and was magnanimous towards his fabricated accolades. There would be time later to quiz Sebastian on this revolving circus he had managed to build. After the party had snapped on latex gloves, Doctor Finch described his findings so far.

The victim was male, approximately thirty years old and had died from a single stab wound to the back that punctured his liver and caused internal haemorrhaging. The ME also explained that the lack of tearing or lacerations on the liver indicated the victim had not moved at all after the puncture. He attributed this to some paralytic agent in the bloodstream that left the victim unable to move or fight back, supported by the hypodermic needle mark on the neck. Ciel was pleased to learn a century had not dulled his investigative abilities or deductive reasoning too much. So far, he had guessed right on everything said. Errol asked for time of death. Finch said between eight and ten hours ago, going off internal body temperature. Harry Marsh asked if Finch thought this body and the evidence found was conducive with being another Hackney Surgeon victim. The doctor stated it was, in his opinion, likely the serial killer's seventh victim as the pair of detectives had suspected. Ciel drew closer to the body's open chest cavity.

The liver had a small hole in it, but nothing else. Whatever fluids had leaked out during the haemorrhage had been drained out during the autopsy. The organ itself was a normal brown colour, suggesting no obvious diseases present, and was altogether unremarkable. Ciel considered and then asked to see the fluids. Finch presented them in a container destined for the medical waste bag.

"Did the implement used to puncture the liver pass right through the organ, Doctor Finch?" Ciel inquired as he brought the container under the glare of a nearby desk light.

"Yes. It struck the false ribs in front of the liver before being withdrawn without any additional tearing." Finch answered. "I take it you believe there may be flakes or fragments of the murder weapon in the fluids?"

"It is not improbable to assume so. Have you already discounted this?" The boy said, sifting through the fluids with a pair of tweezers found on the desktop. So far he could see nothing.

"Due to the diameter of the hole, the lack of tearing and the length of the wound tract, it is unlikely the puncture was caused by a knife or ceremonial blade of any sort. It is far more probable it was the result of…"

"An antique fire poker?" The boy interrupted as he pulled out what at first appeared to be black flakes with his tweezers. He presented the flakes to the assembled party. "These are not paint flakes, but concentrated soot deposits that harden and dislodge from a poker after extended use." Ciel explained before crossing back over to the chest cavity and bringing the overhead light to scrutinise the impact area of the weapon against the ribs. There were clear dark marks on the underside of the rib amidst all the blood and other tissue. "The weapon was an antique fire poker, likely nineteenth century."

"How do you know it's nineteenth century?" Marsh asked, sounding more intrigued than dismissive of the claim. The boy turned the flakes he had found over, displaying the glittering spots that had caught his eye in the first place. The party leaned closer.

"What are they? Gold?" Errol said narrowing his eyes at the peppered black flake. Ciel shook his head.

"They are brass flakes. The quantity on here indicates the soot was clinging to a brass surface. Brass was most fashionable during the latter part of the nineteenth century. Ergo, the weapon was a late nineteenth century brass fire poker."

"Would you agree with that conclusion, Doctor Finch?" Sebastian asked the ME who, instead of looking annoyed at being upstaged by a child, was visibly impressed with the analysis. He nodded in agreement.

"He's bloody clever, Seb, I'll give you that." Finch replied. "Might get him to work on the John Does while he's off school."

The rest of their examination was less spectacular. The paralytic agent used was identified as Pancuronium, trademarked as Pavulon, and was a perfect fit for the Hackney Surgeon's modus operandi as it had been identified in all six of the killer's other suspected victims. The body otherwise had been washed after death to prevent the recovery of fibres, fingerprints and other useful forensic evidence prior to being dumped. Ciel had yet to see any real advancement in forensics since his time with the exception of computers lending a hand to the toil. But he supposed that was due to this murderer knowing what police would look for in an examination of this kind. He had a growing suspicion that the Hackney Surgeon's moniker was not simply down to their use of medical narcotics and precision in killing. Their killer was very likely a doctor or someone with extensive medical knowledge and experience in his opinion, perhaps even a former medical examiner. He voiced these concerns aloud only to be informed they had already been considered.

Shortly after leaving the morgue, Sebastian was informed by a passing sergeant that Superintendent Randall wanted to see both him and Ciel in his office. Although the boy dismissed the name as pure coincidence, once in front of Randall in his modest office, it soon became clear who his ancestor was. Moustachioed, bespectacled and with a careworn expression to match the deep lines of his face, Superintendent John Arthur Randall was the spitting image of Scotland Yard's Lord Randall as he ushered them to take a seat. He looked at Ciel in astonishment.

"How do you like the twenty-first century, Earl Phantomhive?" Randall asked to the boy's total surprise. He looked to Sebastian for guidance.

"The Superintendent is far less sceptical of the occult than his forebear." The demon said. Ciel frowned before turning back to the police chief.

"Then you believe I am a boy who died more than a century ago?"

"I know I'm not mad for thinking so, Earl."

"Please do not address me as Earl: my title died with me. Now I am…just Ciel. Has Sebastian really worked for you the last ten years?"

"Yes he has. As a Randall, I recognised his name immediately when he was transferred from another division. Naturally, he did not look like the photographs of him from the 1880s, but somehow I knew he was the same man. There was something in the eyes that told me as much. Of course, I did not voice such concerns to anyone for fear of being branded a crackpot and unfit for duty. We were partners together for many years and he rose to DCI before I did. However, when he saved my life one evening, taking six bullets for me and still remaining uninjured, I knew I was right about him being your family's butler. He explained the particulars of his plan to me for your resurrection whilst falling back to the shadows and allowing me to gain my current position as head of the division." Randall said as if he had been rehearsing this particular answer all day. Perhaps he had. Despite the sincerity in his voice, Ciel still had doubts.

"Forgive my frankness, but your family have a history of not tolerating the strange or supernatural. Why did you allow him to go ahead with his plan? Why not report him? Better yet, why not have him incarcerated?"

"Because strange, unexplained occurrences still go on in this city. Murders and criminal activities that cannot be attributed to human hands still need solving. For that, we need someone with knowledge of the spiritual and dark realms of reality. It's true on paper that Sebastian has the highest conviction record in the department, around sixty percent. Those are the cases human beings are responsible for committing. The other forty percent are unsolved cases. Of those, only ten percent are actually unsolved. Sebastian has solved the other thirty percent and brought the supernatural killers to justice in secret. He said, when I had discovered the truth, that he would improve his results if you were by his side assisting him. Because I love this city and honestly wish its citizens to feel safe, I let him bring you back." The boy was shocked to have finally met a member of Randall's family who possessed not only humility but actually applied common sense and logic to a situation. It was an amazing revelation. Still, Ciel wished to correct him on one detail.

"Surely there is little you could do to stop him in any eventuality." The boy said to reference the obvious fact if the mood took him, Sebastian could kill everyone in this building without any real effort. Opposing him was not wise.

"For a demon, I find him extremely loyal and…even honourable in a way that seen other beings of his kind are definitely not. His devotion to you is particularly rare in a creature of darkness." Randall offered only for Ciel to sneer.

"And how would you know that?"

"I have thoroughly researched him throughout his long association with human history. And I have also assisted him in capturing and finding several demonic entities in my time as a Detective Inspector. All this besides, he had been poached by every other division in this city with lucrative offers and promotions. Regardless of all this, he has chosen to remain at Hackney as a DCI when he could easily run the entire London police force. I am proud to call him my friend as well as my colleague." The demon almost seemed to have created a small cult in his prolonged absence, such was the respect and adoration he was faced with in this one building. He found it disgustingly sweet, like being force-fed a jar of syrup.

"I think that is enough fawning, John. Shall we explain the situation?" Sebastian said having exchanged a brief glance with his young companion and understood what Ciel's blatant revulsion was caused by. The boy did not need the situation to be explained.

"Your serial killer is not human, yes? The Hackney Surgeon is of supernatural origins. Is that what the situation is?" He asked, not attempting to disguise the patronising tone of his voice. Randall frowned in bemusement.

"For a lad whose been ripped out of time and plonked down here, you really are quick off the mark. But don't talk to me like a five-year-old or I'll clip you around the ear, understood, Ciel?" He said pointing a finger at him. "And don't think Sebastian will stop me doing it either: he's always said you could've used a good slap every now and then in your heyday." The boy glared at the demon who only returned an amused smile. Ciel swallowed his pride and nodded in agreement.

"I'm sorry, Superintendent Randall. It shan't happen again."

"Alright then. Me too. Yes, we think the Hackney Surgeon's one of his lot. There are certain findings we can't explain, evidence that does not lend itself to a psychopath with a grudge. What makes us almost certain this is the work of a demonic creature are the victims themselves. All of them belong to a pagan order that practice black magic and other occult practices. Now, if it were as simple as going to their clubhouse and asking them to stop murdering one another, I'd have sent Harry and Errol already. But we can't even find the evidence their order exists at all. The only proof all the victims are members of the order is the fact they all have tattoos of a mouth behind their left shoulder. The order is called The Library and we only know that because Sebastian told us so when the killer last struck. They pride themselves on silence and knowledge, go figure huh?"

"I didn't see a tattoo on the latest victim."

"The tattoos only show up under certain portions of the light spectrum. Sebastian tells me they are slightly out of phase with our reality and thus invisible to the naked eye. A specially modified black light usually does the trick."

"I'm sorry, but why on earth has this fool not been apprehended yet if on the rampage for over a year? Sebastian would have found them within a week when in my service, and killed them shortly after." Ciel said turning to the demon, "Why haven't you dealt with this problem yet?"

"I have no frame of reference for the order. Until thirty years ago, they did not exist, in any conceivable sense. They are a completely new order without any historical data I can draw upon to aid me. As such I am having considerable difficulty guessing who their next victim will be or how to contact them to prevent more." Sebastian answered calmly. The boy refused to believe something of this nature could have him vexed.

"Surely there is some link between the victims? Social connections, business, class, colour, name, gender, age. Surely there must be _something_ to move forward on." He checked only for the demon to shake his head.

"The victims are all of different ages, ethnicities, backgrounds, families, social circles and evenly distributed across gender. Their only common link is they all lived and worked in Hackney."

"I refuse to believe after a year of study, all you have is a shadowy order you cannot be sure even exists and a common residence." Ciel said curtly, forgetting his earlier promise in the absurdity of it all. "This is the modern age! Is there no device or technique you can use to apprehend this killer?"

"What do you think you're doing here?" Randall said after a brief silence. The boy's eyes widened in disbelief.

"I'm a member of the nobility from the nineteenth century: what on earth do you expect me to do that your twenty-first century policing and Sebastian have not already tried?"

"In all honesty, I have no idea what you can offer us. But I trust Sebastian and says you can help us find this lunatic and wrap up this investigation for good. And, at this point, with the media and politicians breathing down my neck I'm willing to try anything if it means ending this nightmare. You've got less than two months to stop an eighth victim turning up. So I suppose at this stage, all that's left to say is good luck."

They left the station after that and retired to a Costa Coffee shop a bus journey away to get some breathing room. Sebastian offered to buy him a hot chocolate, but the boy only wanted earl grey. The demon bought himself a coffee in order to avoid looking suspicious before the pair took up residence in a more private corner of the shop to discuss things. Ciel was despondent about the whole affair.

"You dragged me from Hell's door so I could flounder on this investigation and look an inept fool?" The boy said. The demon frowned.

"I do not understand. In what sense can you ever look foolish? Even when sporting a dress, you project an air of authority and command respect few others ever attain. I thought you would be pleased to have another investigation to examine."

"But how can I help? I have no authority here, no contacts to lean on, no allies to request aid from and no jurisdiction from the Queen, Crown or Country to excuse the devastation left in my wake. In short, I am just a boy. Even my body is a loan from someone else. If we factor in that, I am not even a boy, just a disinterred soul." Sebastian's hands came to rest on top of his. The demon squeezed them softly.

"You are Ciel Phantomhive. I would not have spent more than a hundred years trying to bring you back if I did not think you could help. This is not the first instance I could have greatly benefitted from your help, merely the only one you have been present for. Demons have no imagination, no original thought. Everything I am comes from experience with humanity. If I had taken any other master but you, I would not have been capable of the level of subterfuge and success I have enjoyed this past century. I can run a business because you showed me how one should do so. I can only be an effective and respected police officer because you highlighted what were incompetent examples at Scotland Yard and demonstrated your own attention to the details of a crime above all else. Even in your absence from this plain, your critical voice shadowed my every action. It was not a conscience of course, but likely as close to one as a demon is liable to possess. Its acid tongue saved me from a fair few instances of stupidity or injury over the years." Sebastian offered with palpable sincerity. Despite his miserable disposition, Ciel felt his heart lighten hearing the demon gift him such enormous praise. And, even though he could not remember a time when one of Sebastian's bare hands touching his skin did not fill him with revulsion and dread, the warm flesh atop of his was comforting. He smiled.

"Perhaps I just like being rude to you."

"Yes, perhaps you do. Do you feel better now?"

"Somewhat. They can't make decent tea here though: this earl grey is atrocious. I want to go home."

"Certainly."

As he sat at the head of the table inside Phantomhive Manor, preparing to receive his evening meal, Ciel could not help but feel his request had been woefully misunderstood. As Sebastian, in full butler's uniform and gloves, laid down the entrée, the boy felt he had to say something.

"This is not what I meant by going home." He said regarding the crab cakes in front of him.

"I know. I just that you might enjoy more familiar surroundings for the evening. You may think otherwise but just because you wish our relationship to be equal, it does not automatically make it so. You have suffered a terrible shock in the last day." Sebastian responded standing off to one side. Ciel, still in his modern clothes, emitted a sigh.

"I'm fine. You don't need to do this." The boy assured him picking up his knife and fork. "I have Filly's knowledge to aid me in adapting to this time. I just need another week or so to fully integrate myself here. After that, I shall be fine." He did not move to cut his food. He was not particularly hungry.

"That is not the shock I am referring to."

"Then what?"

"Me. You are shocked by me."

"You are exactly the same."

"No. You are exactly the same and I am not. What I have achieved frightens you."

Ciel dropped his cutlery on the table and folded his arms. "It is not what you have achieved that scares me. It is that you have done so without me. I never thought you were capable of achieving anything without me. I believed you always needed orders and that, without them, you were as good as useless. I could stomach your immortality so long as you did not have freewill. At least that way, my brief existence had meaning since I possessed a trait a demon could never acquire, no matter how long it lived. But you have that too. And now you have a human pet to amuse yourself with as well. Who needs a cat when you carry a former master's soul in your back pocket?"

Sebastian manoeuvred from his position near the wall to sit in the chair to the boy's left. "Would you rather I just consume your soul?" The demon asked. Ciel scoffed.

"You don't need to ask: you already have it."

"But I am asking: do you want to cease your existence and return to nothingness without trace? If you wish it, I will do so. I will find a new master and continue on. I have no choice in the matter, but you have the freedom to choose your fate: stay or go?" Sebastian said firmly. The boy sighed, propping his face up on a closed fist.

"Do you want me to go?"

"I would have you remain by my side throughout eternity if possible. But the choice is yours to make. I will not torture you any longer if this situation is unbearable." Ciel rolled his eyes at this. He was frank in posing his next question and expected a definitive answer on the matter, once and for all.

"Do you love me, Sebastian?"

"Demons cannot feel as humans do, but if my actions over the past one-hundred and twenty-seven years are to be explained without convolution, I suppose I must love you." The demon returned without a protracted silence developing. Ciel had suspected as much given the lengths Sebastian had gone to orchestrate not only his resurrection but arrange things so he had a place in this new world. He was equally as forthcoming with his own feelings.

"I don't share your sentiments."

"I know. Does that mean you wish to leave?" The demon said, his red eyes blank. Ciel let the dialogue lapse into deathly quiet for many minutes. He scrutinised Sebastian's eyes the whole time, looking for the first sign of worry he might actually want to die. He saw a flicker in them. It was so brief a motion he almost missed it entirely, but he did see it. He sighed lethargically.

"No. I'll stay awhile seeing as you are so clueless without me."

I'm glad to hear that. Would you like a Sauvignon Blanc to accompany your entrée?"

 _« Bien sûr. Quelque chose de léger et pas trop tarte s'il vous plait. »_ Ciel said, adding please to the end of his request as a show of appreciation. Sebastian stood up and bowed.

 _« Excellente choix. Je serai retourné dans un moment. »_

 **Author's Note: Translation for the little French exchange at the end:**

 **Ciel: Of course. Something light and not too tart please.**

 **Sebastian: Excellent choice. I will be back in a moment.**

 **Voila!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Slightly shorter than previous instalments but hopefully of no less quality. Ciel does not get everything his own way for once. Sebastian finds himself involved in an unexpected reunion. Please Read and Review if worthy.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Ciel and Sebastian, His Butler, New World 4**

 **Nursery Bruises**

Ciel wandered in the darkness until happening across Filly's glittering prison. The older boy was sat on the floor of the cage, cross-legged and miserable. The younger boy liked the submissive look in his reluctant host's eyes. It meant he had already won the psychological battle. He leaned on the cage bars and smiled.

"You suit a life under lock and key. Likely the best place for you." Ciel sneered. Filly glanced up from the floor and sighed.

"What do you want now?"

"I want your help in the investigation of a serial killer known as the Hackney Surgeon. Are you familiar with him?"

"I know of him. Why do you need my help?"

"You're keeping vital information about the borough from me. Every time I attempt to probe your mind for answers, you resist. If I am to solve this case and bring this fiend to justice, I need that information."

"And what do I get in return for my 'assistance'?"

"A bigger cage. You can hardly stand up in this one."

"And if I refuse?"

"I'll squeeze the life out of you like an anaconda. Your soul won't be able to withstand my full efforts at extracting information from it. Eventually, it will be crushed from the constant strain. My sponsor has told me as much."

"Muir?"

"That is what you know him as. It is beside the point though: either comply or be killed."

Filly stood up and nodded. "I guess I don't have much of a choice. I'll help you out." Ciel frowned at the ease with which he had tamed the situation. He checked the older boy's eyes for signs of subterfuge or rebellion but saw nothing. Filly stared back. "Can I ask you something?" The Hackney native asked leaning against the bars himself.

"What?"

"Why'd you put a keyhole on this cage?"

"In case I needed to open it."

"Didn't you think that was a little stupid?"

"Not really. Only I can conjure the key to open it."

"Then explain why you're the one inside the cage?"

Ciel moved away from the cage bars only to hit something behind him. He turned to find himself trapped in the diamond cage and Filly stood on the outside looking in. The older boy smirked at him. Ciel was bewildered by their reversal of fortunes and struggled to offer any kind of verbal response.

"How…how did you…?"

"Firstly, you might be in the driving seat, but this is MY mind. You can't trap me in my own head and expect me not to realise that. I'm not actually stupid at all. I can read and I have a big line in metaphysical realms. I've read dozens of books on the subconscious and abstract thought – Hackney Library after hours is a hell of a place. Once I got out of the cage, I created a cage just for you. Mine doesn't have a keyhole though so you don't get to pull a Houdini like me. All I had to do was make you drop your defences for a split second and you were mine." Filly said slowly moving away from the cage. As he did, Ciel heard him sing what sounded like a horrific nursery rhyme.

"The nursemaid said,

Don't mind its head.

Dash it hard against the wall,

See brain and blood begin to fall.

When mother comes back,

Just blame it on dog attack.

Fido goes behind the shed,

And Father must blast his head.

And all the while,

Baby lies stone dead.

But mother dear,

Do not cry,

Or bother yourself to question why.

After all, they're only Nursery Bruises."

"What on earth was that?"

"Something I wrote for you. It's what I think should have happened to you in the cradle. I'm something of a renaissance man that way. Now I'm off to go turn my body back to how it was and give your sponsor a piece of my mind. Best keep quiet or I'll squeeze _you_ to death, you smug little bastard."

Sebastian had been enjoying sleep. The black curtain had descended sometime after the young master had retired to bed and left the demon in tranquil darkness ever since. Just as he entertained thoughts of dwelling in the abyss of subconscious thought for all eternity, the curtain was rudely pulled aside for sober daylight and cold revenge. Filly was on top of him, a kitchen knife pressed into the soft bulb of his throat. For the briefest of moments, Sebastian believed himself to be experiencing his first dream. However, Filly's hatred was too visceral a sight to have come out of his blank mind. The demon smiled at the older boy's unexpected return: he was far more cunning than given credit for.

"I know it's you, Muir." Filly snapped, "Bet you hoped you'd never see me again, huh?" Sebastian toyed with the idea of ripping the youth's arm clean out of its socket, but refrained. The master would hate to find he only had one arm. The vessel's integrity had to be maintained. Maiming the host body was likely to damage the soul inside. The demon would not have his master tainted by ego.

"I am not wholly surprised by your return, Mr. Dales. I am merely impressed at the speed of your reclamation." Sebastian said, allowing his throat to run up and down the length of the blade to demonstrate it had no effect. Filly sighed and tossed the knife to one side. The boy had found his own clothes in the master's room, once again serving to highlight the difference in taste and style between the two boys. This one could not abide collars or belts. Always a T-shirt, always jogging or tracksuit bottoms, never anything nice or complementary. Sebastian's aesthetic despaired.

"I tricked him you know. Your darling Ciel isn't as smart as he looks." The youth said, answering a question the demon had no intention of asking. He did not care how. He could guess why. All he wished to know was…

"So what now, Phillip? Will you flee back to your beloved Hackney streets and continue your life from where you left it, in the gutter?" Sebastian said, his tone devoid of sarcasm or dismissal: he was curious and only that. Filly was common, yes, but wonderfully unpredictable in his actions. Green eyes regarded him in uncertainty.

"That would be stupid, since you'd only come track me down. If you found me once, you'll find me again, especially now I have him as my prisoner."

"You might kill me and end my chase. That would be a logical act to take." The demon offered. He already knew Filly would not kill him, or anybody else for that matter. Even when holding a knife to his throat, there was not the slightest trace of murder in the boy's eyes, only anger.

"You know I wouldn't, even if I could." Filly responded, "I'm not cold-blooded like him. I guess that's why you've got no interest in me. Because I'm human."

"And you know I am not?"

"Not just you: Ciel isn't all human either. He's part monster, part spoiled brat." The boy said with a crooked smile Sebastian found very attractive. The demon could even agree with some of his companion's analogy.

"The young master is an acquired taste, certainly. But so are you. There is much to like about you. You are evidently very intelligent to have duped my master into the prison he designed to hold you with. Are you aware you cannot hope to contain him indefinitely either?" Filly's additional mass shifted noticeably on his chest before the youth got to his feet and manoeuvred off the bed. He sat on the edge.

"Well we need a truce then. If we start a war for control, we'll only end up destroying each other. Whatever's left won't be worth having." Filly responded glancing at the demon over his shoulder. "And I really like my body and mind as they are." Sebastian sat up in the bed and nodded in understanding. What the boy's obsession had been triggered by had been purged in the fires of renewal. He presented a much more stable and level-head young man for scrutiny as opposed to a paranoid wretch.

"The young master has already found your knowledge highly useful for assimilating him to this time. Perhaps if you agreed to help us with our investigation in Hackney, you might coax him into an equal partnership. Sharing a body is better than burning it after all." The demon said. Filly scoffed.

"Seeing as I tricked him into the cage by agreeing to help with the investigation and then double-crossed the smug little git, I don't think he'll believe me." Sebastian sidled over to the youth's side, seeing now how much he was like the young master in being a merciless opportunist. It was an admirable trait.

"He will if you are sincere in your wish of a truce." The demon answered. His companion stared hard at him.

"Why did you let me get so worked up over the tests?" Filly asked with a shrug. "You could've calmed me down a little, but you let me get so bad I couldn't think of anything else. Why?"

"The bonding process becomes easier the more emotionally volatile and stressed the host mind is. When it is like yours was, consumed and flustered, the mind is as malleable as clay and simple to mould. However, your fusion with my master's soul did produce a side effect in your favour."

"What's that?"

"You had a malignant brain tumour that likely would have killed you before you turned sixteen. The bonding process produced enough heat and residual energy to wholly incinerate the tumour. It also burned out any other illness, disease or infestation present." Sebastian said truthfully. He had known since they met of its presence: death hung over the boy like a shroud, shadowing his every step. He was pleased reviving the master had eradicated the tumour, as it had only been conjecture until the closing stages of the actual process. Filly frowned, but offered no bewilderment.

"Was that what caused my headaches?"

"And likely your obsessive behaviour and short temper. The tumour was placing pressure on the areas of your brain relating to emotion and perception. You are now free of those issues."

"I guess I'd be thanking you, if you hadn't hijacked my body for your leech to feed off. I can feel him inside. It's like he's gnawing a hole in me. That's him trying to take control again, isn't it?"

"Yes. He is far too strong for you to resist longer than a day. When you sleep, your body will succumb." Filly stood up and stretched out his spine. Sebastian had watched him do many times in their six weeks together. It was a morning ritual for him, something he could not start the day without. The demon was also aware of something else the blond needed to tackle the day. "Would you like some black coffee, Phillip?" Sebastian asked rising to his feet alongside his companion.

"Yes please…what's your name?" Filly said looking sheepishly at the demon who was perplexed by this incongruity.

"Can you not delve into my master's repository of knowledge and memories for the answer you want?"

"He's closed the gates. I can't get any knowledge out of him at all. I guess he wants to make me feel small, even when I'm the one in the driving seat. Of my own body."

"He calls me Sebastian, after his dog."

"So he's a twat to you too, huh? Sorry to sound mean, but he really doesn't seem like someone worth saving from oblivion."

"As I said, he is an acquired taste. How about breakfast as well? I can fix you those egg and bacon butties you are so fond of."

Sebastian cooked the boy's slovenly breakfast, greasy though it was. When he entered the living room, he found his unwanted houseguest sifting through the case files he had brought from the station. The demon allowed him to continue pawing through photos and maps even with his sandwich contents threatening to escape his plate and splatter the folders with egg yolk. If he was saddled with Filly until his master wrestled back control, the youth could at least be useful.

"I know where the killer is hiding." The boy said less than halfway through his meal. The demon, trawling through the internet for answers, raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise. Filly did not just sound confident but certain that he was correct. Sebastian looked up and silently gestured for him to elaborate further. "They're in the sewers below Hackney. That's why no CCTV footage shows the bodies being dumped. All of them are near sewer grates. Chances are the killer's hideout is directly underneath Hackney central, looking at where all these tunnels meet up." The youth explained indicating the supposed hideaway with a circular motion of his finger on a maintenance map. The demon considered the idea very plausible, even coming from a vagabond without the master's sharp edge.

"Have you been in those tunnels before?" Sebastian asked. Filly glowered at him, an expression he was not used to seeing humans contort their faces into. The boy's bitter tone clarified matters for him.

"Have I ever lived in the sewers? Is that what you're asking?"

"You must have at some point. You would have frozen to death if you had stayed above ground last winter. Unless you left Hackney for a time…" The demon said pragmatically rather than trying to lead the conversation. He had no real concept of cold, but had seen enough dead animals to know it could wreak havoc if left alone. Filly looked indignant at the suggestion.

"I could sleep in shopping centres when it got cold. They're easy to hide in, especially camping shops. I went into the sewer tunnels when social services and the police came looking for me. It was just until they gave up and went home."

"So a number of hours at the very least. Can you lead me to this 'hideout'?"

"Is there a reason why I should? Maybe Ciel can lead you round and round in circles for a couple of days before you ask me nicely to help."

"The young master can simply extract the information from you when he returns."

"No he can't. Look who got control back of their body. He threatened me with extinction too if I didn't help in the investigation, told me he'd squeeze me to death like an anaconda because my soul was too weak to stay afloat. But he made a mistake telling me we shared blood. I might not be a Phantomhive, but I can be just as ruthless. He can't kill me, can he? This is my body and he needs my soul in it otherwise he has nothing to latch onto. I know it because you told him so. Whenever he takes something of mine to use, I get access to his mind as well. So even though he's freezing me out at the moment, I know enough to leverage a deal. If my soul dies, so does my body. That's why he kept me caged instead of snuffing me out. But I can kill him the same way he threatened to kill me. And once I get inside those gates of his, I'm going to."

"Do so and I will kill you." Sebastian warned his companion genially. Filly smirked and shook his head.

"That's going to be pretty hard if you've gone back to nothingness, isn't it?" The boy remarked taking a sip of his coffee, "The instant Ciel's soul ceases to exist, your presence also goes away. And then you have to wait to be summoned again. So, in truth, there's really nothing to stop me from ending this nightmare." The demon was highly impressed with the blonde's analysis. It was an unfortunate truth Sebastian had not told his master and hoped Filly would not realise until he could plot a permanent fix. He smiled at the boy.

"Look around you. Look at yourself. Your life currently is better than it has ever been. You are sat in one of the most luxurious and expensive flats in all of London with unlimited access to all its facilities. You are not only fed, but washed and dressed in new clothes. No-one can hunt you here, no-one can force you back to the home you despise. You get to sleep in a bed instead of an underpass or a food court. More than that, you have a purpose to your life. You get to help Hackney rid itself of one more murderer and give its residents some security. For all this, the only caveat is sharing your body with my young master."

"Yeah, but you'd like it better if I made no appearances at all. You think I'm a little slum rat who gave up his right to freedom when I met you."

"That is true. But since you evidently hold the power here, I too am willing to make concessions. Name your terms."

"First tell me, how long he's going to be sponging off my body?"

"His soul is immortal. If possible, he will share your body until your natural death and then your body's subsequent structural collapse until I could find him another host."

"And would he age along with me?"

"No. He is already dead. His mind and body cannot age beyond that he already has. He may acquire new knowledge and skills, gain physical strength but will always possess the mental age and physical form of a thirteen-year-old boy. So, I ask again, what are your terms?"

"You're telling me this is a good deal? I can't have a relationship or marry or have kids because I have to share my whole life with an immortal thirteen-year-old boy? So when I'm seventy and he takes the reigns, presumably he'll turn back my biological clock until…" Filly paused in mid-thought. Sebastian stood up and joined him on the other sofa. The boy appeared to have ascertained an intriguing possibility about the body share, one Sebastian had hoped he might grasp given a few more years. If he realised the advantage now, it could save so much time. The demon ventured to place a hand over Filly's. He squeezed it as gently as he would his master's.

"Please finish your thought, Phillip. It is important you voice it aloud."

"When he's in control of my body…it doesn't age, does it?" The blonde checked. Sebastian smiled. He grasped the concept beautifully.

"No because he does not age, neither does it."

"So…when I'm at death's door from natural causes, letting him take over means I'll stay alive for as long as he has control. So in theory…I'll never die." The older boy sounded incredulous of the words he had just said. The demon understood: humans always had trouble fathoming the impossible. Immortality was such a mystery to them. Sebastian prompted him further.

"And if you only take control for one day at a time with a day's break in-between…"

"In theory, I'll live twice as long as a normal human being…or at least see more."

"In theory. There is no guarantee of such things as this type of bonding is wholly untested, but is such an opportunity worth the inconvenience it would create? All it would take would be to find someone who understands the arrangement and does not mind it and you can have as fulfilling a life as any other human on the planet."

"And that would be an acceptable arrangement for you?" Filly said with blatant mistrust. Sebastian smiled. Oh, he was such a smart child, so sharp inside the dull shell. The demon had grown very fond of him in the past hour. He would only become smarter in years to come. He and the master would make an excellent team once they learned to co-exist peacefully. And, when Filly let the master take the reins completely as it became clear his death was imminent, they would only grow closer. And the fun would go on and on without end. Sebastian removed his hand from his companion's.

"You may not be a pure-blood descendant of my master's lineage, but you are the only other child I have encountered to make any impression on me. It would also be gratifying to watch a human child grow into an adult. I have often watched the transition to adulthood in cats, but the change is too rapid to be fully enjoyed. Will you forgive my deception?" The demon said plainly. Filly looked deeply conflicted when voicing his next question in reply.

"Will you love me like you do him?" Ah yes. The boy was a lifelong orphan. He had never known the security of parents or the constant love and attention other human children took for granted. It made him receptive to such promises, soft in a way that could be easily exploited. Others in this position would use him for whatever dark purposes they desired. Many probably had already. The demon could admit to feeling something akin to pity for his harsh upbringing. There were other matters to address than a broken boy's heart.

"I cannot ever hold you in the same esteem I do him, but I am certain to grow fonder of you as the years tumble away. Do not feel pressured to decide your terms now. Can you lead me to this part of the tunnel system or not?" Sebastian said indicating the area of the map Filly had highlighted earlier. The boy nodded.

"Yes I can but I'll need a coat to wear. It's really cold out."

"That is a triviality we can address on the way there. What brand of clothing would you like?"

"I just want a coat, not a fashion statement. I don't care about labels."

"That is only because you have never had money."

"Is that such a bad thing? At least I'm not an arsehole like your precious Ciel because of it."

"I suppose there is a certain noble quality to your lack of privilege my master will always be devoid of. Very well, we shall get you a practical coat to wear." The demon said genially. Filly frowned at him in confusion. "What is it, Phillip?"

"You're actually nicer as a demon than a professor. You're really comfortable with what you are, aren't you?"

"I cannot be anything else."

"You did a convincing job of being a university professor and psychopath." The older boy offered with a smile Sebastian expected from his master. Cruel jokes were always appreciated. He bored of consistent praise easily.

"It was a means to an end."

"How long did you masquerade as Charles Muir for?"

"Thirty-eight years."

"All that time just to get to this point?"

"I would masquerade for a century to get this juncture, a millennia if necessary." Sebastian said with the utmost sincerity. Filly shrugged.

"What the hell do you see in him that makes you so devoted?"

"There is no singular answer to that. And with that in mind, would you kindly excuse me? I should dress for the day so we may pursue the investigation in my young master's absence." The demon said rising to his feet.

"Can you not say his name aloud or something?"

"I chose not to when he is elsewhere."

"And you calling me by my actual name is a sign of what?"

"My respect for you. I prefer it to your unflattering moniker."

"I think I do too. Thanks for respecting me, Sebastian."

"You're welcome, Phillip. I shan't be long."


	5. Chapter 5

**Ciel and Sebastian, His Butler, New World 5**

 **Sewers and Compromises**

"Can I ask you something about Ciel?" Filly said as the pair wandered through the maze of tunnels that comprised London's ancient sewer network armed with nothing but flashlights and a hunch. The demon smiled.

"Anything you like." Sebastian replied as the teenager led the way.

"Has he ever wanked himself off?" The blonde said with the kind of casual bravado only adolescents could manage. The demon had watched enough television over the years to know boys Filly's age tended only to think about sex until they actually had some. The question was vulgar, but honest.

"No."

"How do you know?"

"My duties as his servant curtailed much of his privacy. He was almost incapable of engaging in any practice without my knowledge." Sebastian said as they entered another intersecting chamber of the system. Despite any evidence of Filly's theory presenting itself thus far, the demon was confident of success.

"Do you know I do it?" The boy asked transiting into the tunnel directly ahead. Sebastian shadowed his footsteps closely.

"Yes. I did launder your clothes for you during our six weeks together…and change your bedding on a weekly basis."

"Do you do it? Do demons even have…"

"I am fully capable of having intercourse. I have done so on several occasions to progress investigations my master was conducting. I do not indulge in masturbation though. I derive no pleasure from sexual activities." Sebastian responded genially. Here was a conversation he would never have with his young master. The subject matter was not only unseemly but taboo to his Victorian boy and high society. The demon liked Filly's ability to speak lightly of the dirtiest subjects. A minute later, the boy said they were almost at the focal point of the area highlighted on the blueprint.

"Do you have an opinion on it anyway? The care home I was in, Rosewood House, they bashed us over the head with the Bible on it. I got hit every time they caught me doing it in bed." Filly said stepping carefully over loose stonework. The demon was familiar with Rosewood House from the nineteenth century and one of his master's darker investigations, if such a thing were possible.

"Did my behaviour during your residency in my rooms suggest I was mindful of the practice?" Sebastian asked as the tunnel began to bend right. Even in the horrible gloom of this place, the demon was very aware of the thousands of rats leering at them from the corners.

"No. I actually relaxed while I was doing it." Filly said stopping in place. He turned to face his companion who smiled down at him.

"Well, there is your answer. Are we here?"

"Yes. Care to take a gander?" The boy said in a haughty accent reminiscent of the demon's master. Filly grinned at him having at least amused himself with the impression. Sebastian found it amusing too and smiled back before both of them turned their attentions to the tunnel walls. They found nothing unusual whatsoever. The demon had expected as much. His companion seemed disappointed by this and insisted they check again. After scanning for almost one hundred meters in either direction and spending the best part of an hour combing the walls inch-by-inch, they still had yet to find any proof that this was the centre of the seven murders. Filly squatted on his haunches and offered a deflated sigh. "I know I'm not wrong." The blonde told Sebastian, "This point right here, right where we're standing right now, is where we need to look." The demon could hear the conviction in his voice and was curious.

"Why did you ask about masturbation? Why that when you could ask about anything else?" The boy looked up at him and shrugged.

"Because I wanted to know. Because usually kids like him are colossal hypocrites. A silver spoon in his mouth doesn't mean anything if he tosses himself off behind closed doors like everyone else. I'm just looking for some common ground, not as people but as teenage boys."

"That is a smart way of addressing the issue, Philip. Adolescence is something of an equaliser across all boundaries of class and privilege. I would keep on this line of enquiry until you find the solution." Sebastian said crouching down beside the youth with a smile before regarding their location again. "Why should this place be the focus of our efforts above any others?"

"Because this spot here is exactly equidistant between each manhole cover where a victim was found."

"Exactly?"

"Exactly."

"How can you say that for certain? We are underground in near darkness. Do you have a tape measure?" The demon did not intend the remark to seem facetious. The boy was experienced with these tunnels, but he was only a child and ill-educated at that. It was almost inconceivable he could say with absolute certainty they were equidistant between seven dumping sites, especially when one site was almost two miles from another. Filly responded by shining his torch on a number engraved in the brickwork. Sixty-four.

"Section sixty-four of this tunnel system is, according to those blueprints you gave, exactly eight-hundred meters from every manhole near a body. I measured the distances before we left, used a mechanical ruler for accuracy, and checked it against the scale. Every site was eight-hundred meters from this section." Sebastian had watched him perform these actions. Still, there were undeniable facts to address.

"But the victim from site three is almost two miles from the victim at site five. How do you explain that discrepancy when the victims should only be a maximum of a mile apart?"

"That's a surface route. They're really only a mile apart using the tunnels, but above ground, you have to take a long detour through Hackney Central to get the site you're talking about. Trust me, I know Hackney better than you ever will. You can live for all of time and still not know this part of London like I do." Filly told him with a little bass in his voice that instantly recalled the young master's default tone. The demon was willing to concede the point, but they were no further along than before regardless of their efforts. Sebastian patted him on the shoulder.

"Yes you do. Please forgive my caution. What do you propose we are looking for?"

"Something to do with a library. A symbol or a marker or a thing down here or on the walls that has ties to a library. You must've figured that out by now: we've been down here for an hour." Filly said sighing again. The demon could tell his companion's frustrations were mounting.

"I have been actively searching for such indicators since our search began. I was just ensuring you are also on point."

"The stupid blonde cliché at the front of your mind right now?" The youth groaned whilst absently tilting his head up at the ceiling. "You know, demons really are complete…" Sebastian raised his eyebrows at this sudden silence before following the boy's lead and gazing up at the ceiling. Filly's torchlight illuminated the brickwork above him to reveal a single carving of a human mouth. They both stared at it in mute appreciation. "That's the order's symbol right? The one all the victims had in common?" The youth asked as they rose to their feet and continued to scrutinise proof of their theory. Sebastian nodded.

"Yes it is. It is definitely a marker of some description for the order. I cannot conceive of a purpose for placing it so high and out of reach though." The symbol was carved into the brickwork almost eight feet above the ground and could only have been put there by use of an extended ladder and at least two hours of careful chiselling.

"Maybe it marks a spot below the water line." Filly suggested. Sebastian heard a splash moments later and looked from the ceiling to see the boy waist deep in the sewer's brown waters.

"Are you about to reach in and dig for evidence that may not even be there?" The demon checked. He was already in awe of how the boy could breathe through his nose down here and not retch, but for him to go a step further and submerge himself for just the chance of a smoking gun was simply spellbinding.

"You can get rid of the smell from my clothes, can't you?"

"I will make an attempt, but your skin is another matter. The young master will not like it if he awakes smelling like human sewage."

"Maybe he shouldn't have such a sensitive nose then." The boy said before tossing his flashlight to Sebastian and plunging his hands into the filth without a second thought. The demon watched him fish for almost two minutes without success. Then Filly threw something else at him. Sebastian caught it handily as his companion waded back to the pavement. It was a bottle. It was a green, glass bottle with a cork and a rolled up piece of paper inside. The archetypal message in the bottle. "It was weighted down by this." Sebastian looked from the bottle to the chain in the boy's hand. It snaked into the water and was no doubt attached to an anchor of sorts to stop it from being washed away. "You can't tell me somebody flushed that down the bog; it'd shatter the minute it hit the U-bend."

"Indeed." The demon said pulling out the cork and slipping it into his coat pocket. He pulled the paper out from inside and unfurled it.

 _Seven now gone, seven now remain._

 _There must be silence in the library._

 _There must be silence._

 _The mouths that speak deserve no clemency._

 _Do not return here until two moons have passed._

Sebastian showed the message to his companion who frowned at it. "Clemency?"

"It means 'mercy'. Perhaps there is a religious connotation to this order? A vow of silence that has been broken seven times that we know of suggests as much."

"You know where we'll find leaked information that shouldn't be available to the public?" Filly said with a grin. The demon looked down at his companion.

"Where?"

"Facebook."

"Social media. I am almost positive we combed over their accounts as part of the initial investigations: we found no correlating posts or information amongst them."

"So we'll look again. Maybe it's hidden beneath the surface, like the bottle was." The youth suggested as Sebastian scrutinised the message again. It had been written by a left-handed individual, judging by the smudging on the left of the script, and more unusually not with a conventional pen. It had been written with a quill and the rusty brown hue of the letters themselves pointed to an even more unconventional type of ink.

"This was written using blood." The demon said aloud. Filly frowned.

"Human blood?"

"It is unclear. I would need to run forensic tests to be certain."

"But we can't take it, can we?"

"No. It is obvious that the intended recipient of this message has yet to collect it. If we removed it before they arrived, they would suspect something was amiss."

"So, do we do a stakeout like the American cops do on TV?"

"There is no time frame for its collection that we are aware of: it could be hours or weeks from now. We should not risk removing it on the chance it is the latter. However…" Sebastian produced a camera no bigger than a fly from his pocket, "We can utilise this to monitor the bottle in the meantime. It is spyware technology recovered by the cyber division from a paranoid hacker and acknowledged computer genius. It has night vision and thermal imaging capabilities as well as a ten kilometre range."

"And they let you just have that, did they?" Filly said with obvious disbelief as the demon affixed the camera to the wall with a perfect angle of the area they had uncovered the bottle in.

"No. It was necessary to recover it from the evidence room. It will be returned before its absence is noticed."

"We must all seem so stupid to you, human beings. You can just play us so smoothly whenever you like." The boy said in an impersonation of the young master that was anything but deliberate. Sebastian liked the disgust in Filly's voice. It meant the human race were not happy to live in ignorance. They wanted to know the truth. Sebastian was more than happy to tell it.

"It is to be expected when I have witnessed your species move from the forests to this glass utopia in a fraction of my lifespan. You may be the most advanced creatures on this planet, but your drives and motivations are as simple as every other animal in nature."

"That sounds like an insult." The boy said as his companion took a photo of the message on his smartphone before furling it back into the bottle.

"On the contrary, it is a high compliment from a demon. To have built this world purely out of a need to impress the opposite sex and perpetuate your species is an astonishing feat. You should be proud." Sebastian said presenting the bottle for Filly to return to its hiding place. The boy made a brief appraisal of his ruined clothes as if to say it was unfair for him to do all the grot work. "There's no sense in both of us smelling like raw sewage on the journey home. I promise I will eliminate the smell before you go to sleep." The blonde begrudgingly took the bottle and waded back into the filth.

"This is really weird." Filly said as he sat in the bathtub back in the apartment being coated in some thick white gel from head to foot. "Shouldn't there be water in the tub as well?"

"This chemical formulae needs to seep into the skin before water can be applied to wash off the excess. If we were to use water with the product instantly, the result would be as if we had used ordinary soap and you would require another fifteen washes just to begin to eliminate the stench. This process, done correctly, means you only require one wash and there is no lingering trace of the sewer on your skin." Sebastian explained as he finished applying the gel underneath the boy's armpits.

"How long do I have to wait? My arse has already gone numb sitting here."

"Another five minutes should be enough. Please bear with it, Philip."

Five minutes passed quickly. The bathtub was filled to Filly's waist and the demon began to scrub off the dried gel moments later.

"Did he really let you wash him like this every night?" The youth inquired as Sebastian washed off his back.

"He was not as keen on jumping into sewer water as you, but I did bathe him every evening before bed. I take it you think it inappropriate behaviour?" The demon said now cleaning off the boy's neck and shoulders.

"Why couldn't he just wash himself? He isn't a spastic or anything. Is he queer?"

"It was common practice for a nobleman to be bathed by his servants during my young master's lifetime. He was neither incapable of doing so, nor inclined towards male company: he simply conformed to the unwritten rules of his class." Sebastian explained serenely. "Obviously his crotch was not subject to the same rules, as is yours."

"Yeah, I'm glad you didn't feel the need to handle my balls when you were buttering me up with this gunk. That really would've been inappropriate, demon or not." Filly said with a strained laugh. He was not comfortable with this at all. Sebastian could sense that much. He patted him on the shoulder.

"I would never harm you unnecessarily. Believe me on that."

An hour later found the pair back in the living room. Filly was stretched out on one of the sofas, halfway inside a lightweight sleeping bag with the hood of his jacket up whilst eating the dinner Sebastian had made for him: homemade fish and chips with salt and vinegar. Even when he was not homeless, the boy acted like he was. During their six weeks together, the demon had never woken his companion and found him in anything less than a full set of clothes and his shoes as if ready to flee at a moment's notice. That was why Sebastian had bought the sleeping bag when they bought the youth's coat earlier: he would at the very least ensure Filly did not wear his shoes in bed. Now the boy was hopelessly attached to it. He had noticed as much as they watched some entertainment programme or other on the television.

"How is your dinner?" Sebastian asked from his vantage point on the other sofa. Filly nodded.

"You're a good cook. It's not hurting you too much to make me this stuff, is it? What does Ciel prefer, foie gras?" The blonde said flashing him a smile.

"The young master has never quite had a fondness for goose liver. He likes French cuisine above all others. In answer to your question, I am quite enjoying the variety that catering for two very different palettes encompasses. Are you content you are smell-free?"

"I've got to say I wasn't really sure you could pull it off, but thanks for the wash-down. I actually feel clean. Anything on the camera feed yet?"

"No. It has only been two hours though. We have to be patient."

"Yeah, but I'm going to miss it if his lordship takes control for the next day. I was the one who found the clue, not him." Filly said despondently. The demon understood his frustration. He believed he understood them better every time they appeared. The boy just wanted to feel like he mattered, like he was important. Sebastian could see that. It was the desire of every person the world had essentially given up on. The demon reached across the divide and squeezed the blonde youth's shoulder.

"I know. I am very grateful for your assistance today, Philip. You proved yourself a very valuable asset in this investigation. Though it pains him, my master will undoubtedly echo my sentiments when you meet him tonight. If he does not, please tell me and I will reprimand him."

Ciel had been awaiting Filly's arrival for what seemed like days. He had freed himself from the cage by continually throwing himself against it until the bars finally shattered. His host was weak from keeping him contained for so long and the breaking of the cage only proved their strain had reached its limit. It was only a matter of time now until he could reassert his control over the older teenager's body. He intended to keep it this time. So he had created a pit, one so deep that it was impossible for someone to climb out without significant help from outside. He would lure Filly into the pit and then leave him there indefinitely. After a while, he would then fill the pit until he had buried the boy completely and suffocate him with any luck while he was at it. So Ciel stood just in front of the pit and waited. Eventually, the blonde emerged from the darkness to confront him.

"Have a nice day?" Filly asked with a knowing smile. Ciel narrowed his eyes.

"You don't seem surprised to see me out of your prison."

The blonde shrugged. "I can't hold you down forever. Neither of us can hold the other down forever."

"I know. So why not call a truce?"

"You want a truce, Ciel? Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yes, of course."

"So you don't want to shove me in that pit behind you and take absolute control?" Filly said casually pointing behind his companion. Ciel was unperturbed.

"Do not pretend you do not wish a similar fate for me. I will not be your prisoner again. I refuse to be anybody's plaything."

"Me too. So why don't you come away from that pit and talk with me like a human being and not a backstabbing bastard?"

Ciel reluctantly wandered forward from his trap until he was stood toe-to-toe with his companion. "What are your terms?"

"We share. We divide our time equally. I get a day and you get a day and we go back and forth like that until I have no more days left to live. Then you can have them all."

"What does Sebastian think to this arrangement?"

"That I hold all the aces. I can crush you like an egg anytime I want so you getting half of anything of mine is a good deal. You should take it before I change my mind." Filly said with more aggression than the younger boy thought was fair. This was not the business conduct of gentlemen. He smirked.

"Ruthless negotiation is normally the hallmark of a desperate man."

"Or someone who knows when to apply the pressure. Which do you think it is?" Filly asked with a stubbornness Ciel hated being impressed by. He was far smarter than Sebastian had given him credit for.

"Why would you suddenly want to share your body and mind like this?"

"Because your friend makes a good argument. You really should be nicer to him." Friend. His only friend was the demon who took his soul as payment for services rendered. It was pathetic. Ciel sighed.

"Why? Both of you have the power to kill me whenever the mood strikes you: being nicer will not change that."

"Do you not want to live or something?"

"Spare me this rhetoric: Sebastian has already inflicted such metaphysical drivel on me. I do not need another recital. No, I don't want to die. Not when it's a choice."

"So are you going to shake my hand and make it official?" Filly asked putting an open hand forward to seal their arrangement. The younger boy regarded it and privately wondered how much garbage it had dug through in search of food. He guessed a lot. He shook the blonde's hand. When he released his grip, Filly did not. Ciel found himself jerked closer until their noses were almost touching. "Don't think I don't know your sort: rich guys are always cowards when it comes to honour and fairness – every film I've ever seen says so. You go back on your word and try to stick me behind bars again, I'll personally snap your neck." Filly said bluntly. Ciel was not afraid. He had never been afraid of death, merely annoyed it always seemed to arrive too soon. He smiled.

"Yes you definitely should, if such a time comes. But one look in my eyes should tell you I'm not a coward. I am many things, but I have never been a coward. Ask Sebastian how we met to begin with and you will see that for yourself. Let go of my hand." The older boy released his grip and their hands fell apart.

"He said you were tougher than you looked." Filly said in something like approval. Ciel rolled his eyes. Patronised by a street urchin.

"He also said you were stupider than you looked, an incredible feat if you ask me."

"Well nobody asked you, you prude." Filly retorted with a smug grin his companion was instantly wary of. The older boy apparently believed he knew an intimate secret. Ciel braced himself for the inevitable revelation.

"How am I a prude?"

"You're thirteen and you don't wank: how much more uptight can you get?" Ciel was unimpressed with this argument. He had sexual feelings, of course, but that was not reason enough to invite such carnal practices into his daily life. He offered as much in his response.

"I have other things on my mind besides self-gratification. It serves no purpose."

"How would you know if you've never tried it?"

"I've witnessed monkeys debase themselves at London Zoo. I imagine human beings look little different during the act, although they likely possess less dignity since they have no excuse for their behaviour." He said only for his companion to laugh instead of be insulted. He did not need to ask to know whether Filly engaged in such lewdness or not: it was all over his face.

"Spoken like a true Victorian, huh?"

"I am a Victorian. There is nothing wrong with having standards. You should try it sometime instead of running wild like a feral cat in London's streets. If we are to peacefully coexist, we must have some kind of rule system in place." Ciel said in the hopes of ending this avenue of conversation in favour of something more vital for the future. The blonde nodded in what Ciel wanted to be agreement.

"I'll make you a deal: I'll be more domesticated if you walk on the wild side a little more."

"I will take it under advisement. Is it my turn now?" The younger said already turning away and walking into the darkness. Filly's voice followed him.

"Yes. Watch the pit on your way out: wouldn't want you to fall in now, would we?"

Ciel awoke on the sofa, wearing his plaid pyjamas whilst lounging underneath his duvet. He groggily turned to see Sebastian sat watching him on the other sofa. Freshly brewed tea sat waiting on the coffee table. The demon offered him a warm smile.

"Good morning Ciel. How did you sleep?"

"Why did you undress him?" Ciel said ignoring the inquiry posed in favour of his own as he sat up and thumbed his sleeve. "He did not fall asleep in these pyjamas: they would never fit him." The boy looked at Sebastian whose expression remained blank. "I demand an answer. Now."

"I did not wish you to awake in discomfort."

"And you thought it proper to interfere with a sleeping boy?" Ciel said swinging his legs over the side of the sofa and folding his arms. "Did you let him sleep naked until I returned and then dress me?"

"I ensured he was not cold in the interim. He sleeps like a vagrant…in a sleeping bag. It was hardly a fitting set of circumstances for you to return in."

"Not only is that insulting to him, it is insulting to me. I told you I do not need to be mothered. If he falls asleep on this sofa in a sleeping bag, let him. If he falls asleep wearing his clothes, let him. If I awake in a sleeping bag in oversized clothes, let me attend to the issues myself. I can find my way out of such articles and into more fitting clothes myself. Do not, under any circumstances, strip either of us naked in anticipation of the other's arrival. Is that clear?" Ciel said sharply. Sebastian raised his eyebrows.

"Of course. I am pleased to see you are now eager to defend his dignity. I had expected you to wage some variety of counterattack."

"We both know that would be pointless." Ciel said reaching forward and pouring himself a cup of tea from the set. "Why did you inform him I do not engage in masturbation?"

"Because he asked. It is hardly a secret: anyone who knows anything about the Victorian aristocracy could gather as much."

"He found it highly amusing. Why?"

"Such practices are commonplace these days amongst adolescents. Chastity is more likely to see one bullied on the playground than sin."

"I see. He has agreed to be more housebroken in future." Ciel said sipping his tea. Sebastian nodded.

"And your promise in reply?"

"I will try to be less, of a prude." The boy said bitterly before catching a pungent odour in his nostrils. "Has he been down to the sewers recently?" Ciel asked smelling his skin. There were faint traces of what could only have been…unsavoury working conditions. The demon smiled.

"Yes. Please allow me to fill you in on the details…"


	6. Chapter 6

**Ciel and Sebastian, His Butler, New World 6**

 **Friend and Foe**

Ciel had listened to the particulars of the investigation as Sebastian had outlined them. The demon's sentiments on his return from the reaches of Filly's subconscious were unreadable. The boy was not interested in the case at present, nor what such archaic methods of communication said about the traditions of the Library order. All he was concerned with was ensuring his host never saw the light of day again.

"How do I rid myself of your urchin friend? He cannot be allowed to undermine my authority on a daily basis. It is intolerable to be tethered to such a dirty creature of the slums." Ciel said wrinkling his nose at faint overtures of raw sewage he could still smell on his bare skin. Red eyes said nothing.

"At present I have not formulated a solution to that problem. Extraction of the host soul is impossible since it will kill the body. Containing the host mind is equally dangerous: the only way you can eliminate Filly's consciousness is to fully consume his soul with your own, fuse them as it were, but with yours as the solitary mind." Sebastian said as if such drivel were obvious. The boy narrowed his eyes.

"How would I achieve that?"

"I have no idea. A demon may consume a human soul because it has none to be corrupted by ingestion: a human soul consuming another human soul offers no guarantee of the consumer's personality remaining intact. There is always a chance eating the other soul will merge the two separate identities into one, distorting past, present and future endeavours and driving what is created to madness." This could only prompt Ciel to roll his eyes in frustration.

"So, am I to understand that as a demon, your mind is essentially indestructible?"

"Not indestructible, merely incorruptible. My personality cannot be altered in any way. I have been the same since time began and I will never change."

"Then explain your attachment to me? Surely that is a personality change?"

"No, simply activation of traits that lay dormant. I have always liked small, vulnerable mammals such as cats, admired them for their sleek veneer and unusual grace. Until I met you, I never thought such traits could be found in a human contract. You were a small and vulnerable animal when I met you, aesthetically pleasing to behold certainly, but with a curious natural dignity that bellied your physical frailty. I was fascinated by you from the start, if displeased by your initial clumsiness and stupidity. Now you are perfect, a cat in human form." This went beyond cheek or the fringes of good taste. To compare him to a cat, appraise him on equal footing with such loathsome vermin…the boy could barely contain himself to reply at all.

"That is absurd, even for you. I need a solution to this problem. I will not share indefinitely."

"I have no intention of letting you do so. I will find a solution. In the meantime however, let us utilise him as necessary with our investigation."

"Do you like him, Sebastian?"

"He is not entirely without merit. During your absence, he proved himself to be very capable."

"That is not an answer to the question I asked. Do you like him?" Ciel snapped. He was not jealous of Sebastian lavishing attention on that slum rat. Far from it. He was merely angry the demon felt he had leave to evade such a direct question. Sebastian offered a brief nod.

"Yes. He reminds me of you." The boy scoffed.

"That's funny. I rather think he is like you: a puppet-master who is eager to see me dance on his strings." The demon's ever-present smile finally vanished. He almost appeared upset by this analogy. Ciel watched this very human reaction in incredulity. Sebastian was actually concerned.

"I do not want you to perform, Ciel. I want you to be happy." The demon said. The boy was not in a forgiving mood. He let out a dismissive sigh.

"You are doing a poor job thus far."

His companion did not try to mend broken fences with eloquent prose this time. This time the boy was subjected to something new. Sebastian got up from his position on the other sofa and took a seat next to the boy. Ciel eyed him with suspicion as arms began to close around his back, trapping him in the hollow space of the demon's body. The arms tightened around him, forcing his own body flush against Sebastian's and his forehead to press on the demon's still chest. He could now see nothing but the fabric of his companion's cable-knit sweater, smell nothing but the shroud of death that permeated every inch of Sebastian's being and hear nothing but the blood pounding rhythmically in his ears. Here he was, in the embrace of death itself, and could feel nothing but…serenity. He wanted to be repulsed by this display, abhorred by its emptiness, but was not. All he felt was safe. He closed his eyes and sank into the darkness without regret. The arms tightened their hold further, squeezing him firmly.

Ciel lost track of how long the demon persisted in his embrace. But when it was over and the arms released him, the boy regarded his companion in silence for several moments. "Is that supposed to absolve you of poor stewardship?"

"No. It is to remind you of my devotion. You are the reason I refuse to move on with my existence. I am a demon. It is in my very nature to consume and seek out another meal. I am a predator, not a person. And yet you are still here, a mouse who lives in the jaws of a lion." Sebastian replied. He placed a hand on the boy's cheek. "I will find a solution. I promise." Ciel could feel the cold and unnatural texture to the demon's skin as the hand remained on his face. It was like pressing against a tombstone in the depths of winter. It was oddly comforting too.

"Do you expect gratitude?" The boy asked as the hand too persisted in its action.

"I expect you to see I am sincere. That is all I want, my little lord."

"Touching me does not increase your sincerity in any way. It only makes you seem desperate." The boy told him but without his typically sharp tone. His companion's smile returned. The demon had evidently heard the lack of hostility that kept them distant drop away. Ciel felt himself tense as it dawned on him Sebastian knew that he was contented by such behaviours. The demon knew his weakness, had seen his enjoyment of such intimacy. It was dangerous.

"Then you may consider me very desperate indeed." Sebastian said before hugging his companion again. Ciel offered no objection. He closed his eyes and fell into the dark realm again. It was warmer this time, an even more inviting sanctuary to retreat to. The demon relented faster though. They were one for only a few seconds. The boy could not recall an embrace that gave him such peace, except that of his physical death. He nodded in agreement.

"Woefully desperate I would say. I am not weak or feeble, you damn cur."

"I never said either of those words, Ciel."

"You compared me to a cat and called me small and weak."

"No, I called you small and vulnerable."

"Explain the difference."

"Weak implies failure on your part. Vulnerable implies failure on the part of the world around you. I think we can agree you have never failed yourself, but the world has failed you…until my arrival."

Ciel was unconvinced of the demon's distinction between the two terms. However, they had danced around these issues for what had now been more than a century. He was not eager to retrace old arguments concerning his physical frailty, especially not with a creature as overtly powerful as Sebastian. The demon had pledged to give him permanent ownership of his new body. That was good enough a promise to dismiss this line of conversation and the strange feelings of affection the boy was beginning to experience for his companion. Ciel placed a hand over Sebastian's and gave it a solitary pat.

"I…appreciate your…devotion. Perhaps it is best if we addressed the particulars of your investigation. Sentiment is something neither of us express well. Please show me the photograph of the note." The demon inclined his head.

"With pleasure."

Ciel regarded the message and its hallmarks again on Sebastian's smartphone before taking a shower using carbolic soap in the hopes of eliminating the stench. When he returned to the living room, fully dressed in a cashmere sweater and flannel trousers, he was ready to work on the problem. Sebastian had spread various papers on the coffee table relating to the mysterious order they were seeking and freshly brewed Assam tea for one. As the demon opened his mouth to offer some greeting, Ciel left the room. He returned a moment later with an extra cup. Sebastian raised his eyebrows in surprise as the boy poured another helping from the ceramic teapot and pushed it in his direction.

"Why a quill? Why not a pen? It's not like the message is written on parchment or anything fitting for the implement." The boy asked as he sat down opposite his companion. Sebastian nodded in agreement.

"No. And, for such a modern invention, this Library order has odd anachronisms: an archaic writing tool dipped in blood then applied to common stationary paper. It is terribly inelegant."

"And stupid. Has the camera caught the alleged perpetrator yet?"

"Not yet. The only movement has been that of a rat colony."

"Describe the bottle to me. Any hallmarks or notable features?" Ciel said sitting back and crossing his legs. Sebastian took a sip of his tea.

"It is of Victorian origin, likely an early nineteenth century gin bottle judging by the type of glass and general shape."

"And the rope holding it in place?"

"I did not see the rope. The ease with which Filly untied it suggests it was low-quality braided rope from a hardware store."

"It all seems a very contrived method of communication. Do you believe it to be genuine or some elaborate hoax to send us chasing shadows?" The boy asked reaching for his own cup. Sebastian's expression was one of amusement.

"The lengths they have gone to in order to conceal this message and its initial location suggest it is a genuine message."

"And the message conveys the idea there are fourteen targets for assassination and whoever is orchestrating them has successfully dispatched half their list already. This really bad prose they have written the message in, an imitation of Victorian poets? Is this whole venture some neo-Victorian nonsense, a romantic view of an age that did not exist?" Ciel postulated whilst briefly pawing through the strewn documents. They were annotated photographs of the dump sites and employee records of the victims themselves. Nothing jumped out at him.

"That is certainly feasible. During a review of the victims so far via social media, I have found certain links between them that are not obviously apparent." Sebastian said indicating his closed laptop that sat amidst the chaos of papers and tea. The boy's interest was piqued. He leant forward.

"Such as?"

"Instagram posts show them all wearing similar Victorian-styled garments at a function entitled 'Festum Victoriana'." Ciel did not need the translation: Victoriana Festival. So, links did exist.

"Can you ascertain when these photographs were taken, where?"

"They are all time-stamped. Dates range from 2005-2007 and the images themselves were uploaded in December 2011." Ciel raised an eyebrow.

"All of them?"

"Yes, all of them. And all at the same time."

"How many images are there?"

"One from each."

"Show me them. This must be some kind of coded message." The boy said sidling onto the seat next to the demon as the laptop was opened up. They both took sips of tea as the desktop loaded. A minute later, Ciel was scrutinising the seven images as they sat side-by-side on the monitor. None of the garments being worn were originals. The boy could tell that just from the missing details such as pockets and the correct number of buttons. The poor stitching on the seams was a mere bonus. They looked to date from the 1830s since they greatly resembled the clothes worn by the older members of the gentry. Fashion disasters aside, the fact they all stood alone in the picture and had adopted the same pose of their left arm crossed over their chest as if preparing to bow was quite telling. "Perhaps a pledge of allegiance?" Ciel mused aloud taking another sip.

"Yes, maybe even an oath of loyalty to the order itself. This could be their initiation picture."

"And the photographer, some sort of prominent figure within the order. Perhaps the leader themselves. How did you find these images?"

"They had been deleted from the profiles, but not thoroughly enough. I recovered them using a software programme that reverses such a process."

"A lack of computer knowledge and skills might be the cause. It would fit an individual or group who try to enact older methods of living and working. Do we have a location for these images yet?"

"I have researched the festival and found that it takes place right here in London, the Gawain Theatre near King's Cross Station to be exact. Fortunately for our requirements, the latest iteration of the festival is scheduled for next Friday. It takes place every year on January the twenty-second." Ciel could not help his eyes widening at the mention of this date. He took a moment before articulating his concern.

"The day of my death?"

"An unusual coincidence, at best. You and Her Majesty Queen Victoria died on the same date, approximately eleven years apart." The demon replied genially whilst draining the last of his cup and setting it down. Ciel grimaced.

"And they celebrate the Victorian era, on the day it came to an end? That is somewhat macabre, isn't it?" The boy said mirroring his friend's actions in finishing his tea. Sebastian nodded.

"Yes, I thought so too. We should attend."

"It is not a private affair?"

"No. Anyone may purchase a ticket to the event. I have already paid for two of them online."

"Does it detail on the website what activities take place at this festival?"

"There are many exhibitions depicting daily Victorian life, simulated Hansom cab rides, food, drink entertainment, arts and crafts and of course, photographs."

"Anything…occult?" Ciel asked. He hoped not, but with an order this shadowy and apparently conceited, it almost seemed a prerequisite they should claim a dark force as their power. Sebastian smiled.

"Not that is advertised."

"Do we not have any other leads to pursue in the meantime?" The boy said, not particularly thrilled at playing musical chairs with Filly for the next week. Sebastian gestured to the laptop screen.

"We can investigate possibilities why all seven victims posted their respective images simultaneously and what the significance of that date almost five years ago means. There may be clues to trace other potential victims before time expires." Ciel regarded the demon in suspicion. It was disconcerting to hear an immortal talk of time running out. It made him think he was making more than a generalisation on the subject.

"Whose time?" He asked. Red eyes returned his gaze with their usual opaque nature. The demon's smile widened ever so slightly.

"No-one in particular, merely time itself."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Here is Chapter 7 and the first part of Ciel and Sebastian's adventures trawling the Festum Victoriana for clues to their investigation. Whilst perusing the stalls, the pair cross paths with an old acquaintance and are taken aback by what they know. If there are any glaring mistakes, please tell me. Enjoy.**

 **Ciel and Sebastian, His Butler, New World 7**

"This is really stupid." Filly told Ciel as they sat playing cards in the dark void. The younger boy narrowed his eyes in displeasure.

"The game of piquet is not stupid. It is merely more complicated than you want to accept." Ciel said reshuffling the thirty-two card deck on the table top between them. The blonde slouched back in his chair and sighed.

"Look, is this just to make me feel like a moron? Because if it is, congratulations: I feel like my head's been raped in the last hour." Ciel's already sour expression darkened further.

"Do not make light of such matters. It is disrespectful. Once you get your mind around the French terminology, you will find this game to be quite enjoyable."

"Who taught you this game? Was it your old man or your ancient demon?"

"Both, as it happens. My father introduced it to me when I was six and Sebastian helped me cultivate my skill when I was older." The younger boy explained whilst dealing out twelve cards each for the first _partie_ of the contest. Filly smirked.

"I should've known. Why is he so sweet on you? I mean, his contract ends, he gets his soul and you're still here. What does he want from you?"

"My company. For all eternity."

"And you're okay with that, being a demon's plaything for the rest of time?"

"I'm not his plaything. I am his master. He prefers it that way. According to him, he always has." Ciel said picking up his hand for examination. His companion sat forward again, elbows on the table.

"He's playing us both, you know. Neither one of us is getting the truth here. Take this investigation for example: do you really think a demon with his skillset needs help from either of us to solve it? Don't you think that maybe he's lying to you?"

"Sebastian cannot lie. He can only omit truths." The younger boy said curtly. He silently gestured for the blonde to examine his own hand. Filly ignored the suggestion.

"Of course he can lie! He pretended to be a university lecturer for thirty years and a police detective and the head of your company: you honestly think he could pull any of those identities off without lying?" Ciel slammed his cards on the table. His face was no longer dark but burning with what could only have been anger. The blonde steeled himself for whatever fire was only moments away. However, the younger boy's tone was still cool and inhumanly even for his expression.

"He never lied in those positions. His lifespan and knowledge mean when he says he has studied something, it can generally be taken as meaning he has mastered the subject. Since he has existed since the universe began, he has mastered everything. He has lectured somewhere, policed somewhere and ran some business at some point in his existence. So nothing he has ever said is a lie. It is always a truth people twist into a lie through assumption and circumstance. That he does not correct their assumptions is not lying: it is omitting certain truths." Ciel gestured to Filly's cards again. "Pick them up and let's play." The older boy reluctantly complied.

Ciel awoke in the familiar surroundings of the living room, Filly's usual sleeping spot for the switch, and again found Sebastian sat on the opposite sofa watching him. The boy frowned when realising how cold he felt. Lifting his head from his current foetal position revealed he was not only without blankets but also clothes too. He sighed lethargically.

"Is this his attempt to embarrass me?"

"He found the idea of someone of your breeding awaking in a position favoured by the cheapest of prostitutes to be most amusing." Sebastian said offering the naked youth his dressing gown to wear. Ciel rolled his eyes in sitting up.

"Perhaps if it were a public street in broad daylight, I might feel some semblance of shame…" The boy snatched the gown and wrapped it around his shoulders, "however, in a living room where the only pair of eyes belong to the creature who bathed and dressed me more times than my own parents is nothing but an inconvenience." Once he had settled into the folds of the demon's gown, Ciel inclined his head. "Thank you for respecting my wishes and not dressing or coddling me like an infant."

"You are quite welcome. Frankly, I was astonished Philip could fall asleep in such a brazen manner without alcohol. He is remarkably resilient to the cold. How was your evening with him?" Sebastian inquired whilst pouring a fresh cup of tea from the pot on the coffee table.

"I believe he understands the principles of Piquet now, if not how to actually play it effectively." Ciel replied accepting the demon's gift and taking a long sip.

"Excellent work. How many hours did it take you?"

"It felt like a century at times. Do you honestly believe this plan of yours will work?" The boy said taking another sip. The tea was tangy this morning. He liked it.

"The more knowledge you share, the more likely it is you will be able to consume his soul without loss of identity." Sebastian said serenely. Ciel could not share his confidence.

"But surely if I continue to furnish him with all the knowledge at my disposal, there is a risk he will use it to consume me and preserve his identity."

"That is why I had him educate you in the intricacies of Hackney's street system the night before. At some stage there will be a state where both of you possess knowledge and skills that are almost indistinguishable from the other. When that happens, consuming his soul should theoretically pose no issue." The demon explained as his companion responded by shooting him a sardonic smile.

"But you have no evidence to support this theory of yours, correct?"

"No, unfortunately I do not. You will simply have to trust me on the matter." Sebastian said getting to his feet, "Would you like some breakfast, Ciel? I can make you the scrambled eggs and salmon you are so fond of if you wish." Ciel deliberately left him waiting an answer by taking another lengthy sip of his tea. The demon seemed more amused than irritated by the tactic. It had always been the case.

"I do not need you to mother me, Sebastian. I am perfectly capable of making my own breakfast."

"I am aware of that. Sometimes though, friends do make breakfast for one another if they are particularly close." Sebastian countered. Ciel scoffed at the labelling of their relationship. He stared in incredulity at the demon.

"You think we're close friends?"

"In all but name. Do you not agree?"

"You, a close friend? Are you mad?" The boy sneered derisively. Sebastian appeared unfazed by this derogatory response and inclined his head in acceptance. "We're best friends." Ciel told him. Sebastian's eyes widened in shock. With his bottom lip fractionally dropping from its counterpart, the demon's mouth came the closest as it ever had to being agape. Even though he was sincere, the boy was satisfied at having finally squeezed blood from a genuine stone. "Now go make me some eggs…best friend." Sebastian's shock immediately gave way to its usual demeanour.

"Certainly. Please feel free to use my laptop."

Ciel went straight to the surveillance feed from the sewer. After skipping through most of the video, a hooded figure finally appeared in the frame. The boy watched in silence as the figure approached the bottle's location and then used a length of wood to lift it from the water. After scanning the note, the figure then burned it using a lighter from one of the robe's pockets. A moment later, they had disappeared from view once more. The whole incident had lasted less than thirty seconds. Ciel rewound the video and zoomed in. The figure's face was visible at no point in the clip, but their hands were. The left hand only had three fingers. It was far from a smoking gun, but with the festival only hours away, it would provide a useful indicator of who to scrutinise.

They had decided the day before yesterday that the festival itself was a harmless celebration of a bygone age and not particularly concerned with historical accuracy. Trawling the social media accounts of the victims had presented them as highly computer literate and likely recruited because of these skills. Their synchronous postings of single photographs was theorised to be some sort of rebellion or insurrection against the order and perhaps less than honourable practices, chiefly murder. Filly had helped with that monumental task yesterday, spending all day sifting through the account archives to give their theories weight. Ciel begrudgingly respected his host's tenacity and desire to help. He was not completely useless. That would be a problem when he finally made his move for absolute control. For now, there was nothing but this festival to consider.

"Did you see the footage from the sewers?" Ciel asked as Sebastian returned with his eggs.

"Our hooded friend, yes I did. He appeared just after three this morning and was gone less than half-a-minute later. Evidently he has done this before." The demon said putting the plate down beside the laptop. The boy was intrigued.

"Why are you so certain it's a man?"

"Height, build and the large nature of the hands suggests the perpetrator to be male. However, I am willing to entertain the idea it is a woman so long as she is the most unusual woman in the world."

"Do you have any links regarding the three fingers? Do, for instance, any of the victims' social media accounts have images of them with a three-fingered individual?"

"No, however, this is an ailment I doubt many would wish to draw unnecessary attention to."

"I believe such a detail is worth keeping in mind when we attend the festival. Should we happen across such an individual, I think it goes without saying we should investigate them further." Ciel said before looking at a tribute to the Victorian dead on the Festum Victoriana's homepage. "They don't mention me at all in their register of Empire Heroes." Ciel remarked as Sebastian resumed his seat on the opposite sofa. The demon helped himself to the tea.

"Your candle did burn very briefly, barely three years if we are being truthful. That, added to the fact that Her Majesty destroyed all evidence of your shared correspondence with her following your death, has helped make your contribution to the empire a secret in today's world. It allows you to move with far greater freedom than if you were a prominent figure in this nation's history."

"Do not misunderstand. I am glad my legacy is just a name on some weathered headstone. Here and now, presented with the case as it is, I am glad of being little more than a whisper. But a buried secret can still be unearthed with enough patience. I still expect both of us to attend today's festivities in disguise. Have you and your sewer-swimming friend finalised them for this afternoon?"

"Oh yes. I think you'll find them quite appropriate for the occasion." Sebastian smiled, taking a sip of his tea.

Ciel stared in amazement at his reflection in the mirror. The likeness was as uncanny as it was disturbing. Somehow, Sebastian had made him into a perfect copy of his slovenly host, Philip 'Filly' Dales. The blond hair and green eyes were simple fixes, done with a good wig and the right contact lenses, but the shape of his jaw, the colour of his skin and the sheer details that made the older boy's countenance unique were harder to explain using conventional make-up. He wore pads underneath his Victorian clothes to add more heft to his frame and short braces instead of platform shoes to grant him additional height without arousing suspicion. Sebastian meanwhile had resurrected Charles Muir for the occasion right down to the last wrinkle.

"You did this on purpose, didn't you? You and he drew up this farce together."

"He thought perhaps embodying him for an afternoon might lend perspective. Besides, an apprentice and his master are very common stereotypes from that era. Now, can you imitate his voice?"

"Unfortunately…I bloody can." Ciel said producing a flawless rendition of Filly's accent and pitch that completely masked his own voice. Sebastian patted him on the shoulder.

"Excellent."

"I do hope you don't wish me to act like him too."

"No. We do not wish to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves at the festival. We need to find the order's recruiter without arousing suspicion or scaring them away. Be calm, but not stiff. Understand?" Even an admission of friendship had not dulled Sebastian's patronising nature. Ciel rolled his eyes.

"I know how to act normal."

"Really? Why am I only hearing of this now?"

"Oh do shut up, you smug git."

They were amongst the first to arrive at the Gawain Theatre that afternoon for the festival. They went unnoticed by the other patrons and staff in meandering through the various stands and stalls until finding the same photography booth all the victims had pictures from. Ciel suspected this area to be a recruitment ground for the Library, but could not be certain. Within an hour of the festival opening, the theatre was crowded with people in stove-pipe hats and elaborate Victorian dress. A quick head count by Ciel put the number at just shy of four-hundred. The boy was baffled by its popularity, particularly when seeing the enthusiasm the crowds displayed with the activities on offer.

He had thought everyday life during his time was nothing but a hardship for the underclass. They toiled all day and sometimes all night just to feed their families or keep wood on the fire during winter: Ciel was not unsympathetic having begged and pleaded to survive his captors' torture. He knew something of desperation. As progressive as Her Majesty's reign was, living in its shadow always meant struggling to survive, no matter your privilege. This festival glamorised it, choosing to gloss over child labour, abject poverty and the constant threat of cholera in favour of faux cobbled streets, quaint shop windows and likely imported gas lamps. He temporarily lost interest in watching the photographer's stall for their three-fingered courier or shady recruiter, wandering into a romanticised scene of Whitechapel, free of mutilated prostitutes and despair.

"What do you make of this?" Ciel asked his shadow, knowing the demon never strayed too far.

"I think it rather quaint, if wholly inaccurate in its depiction." Sebastian commented. The boy stooped to rap his knuckles on the surface of the cobblestones. They were plastic. Of course. He sighed.

"Is this what these people choose to remember of my world? Cobblestones and carriages?"

"You must remember these people are not historians but enthusiasts. They do not care for the ugly parts of their history, only the good. The horrors of Her Majesty's reign are best left to professionals who build their reputations on its study. Did you honestly find no beauty in your world?" The demon asked as his companion rose back to his full height. Ciel was quick to shake his head.

"Not in central London, not in my lifetime."

"So you never marvelled at the architecture of Augustus Pugin or Charles Barry?" Sebastian said. The boy rolled his eyes.

"They designed the same damn building: the Palace of Westminster and its Gothic eyesore 'Big Ben'. Neither structure was worth marvelling at."

"Then why did your gaze always linger on its spires and flourishes whenever we passed by?" The demon inquired, stepping close to him to avoid some other eager patrons as they filed through the display. Ciel scoffed.

"To remind myself it was populated by pompous buffoons and poor judgement instead of leaders and decisive action."

Sebastian smiled at him. Even under the copious make-up and prosthetics, Ciel recognised the demon's version of pity. He scowled in reply. "Please tell me the truth. Just once tell me your true feelings on the subject." The demon said genially. The boy considered more acidic remarks to make his companion drop the issue altogether, but refrained. He had no image to protect. He kept forgetting the world was no longer watching him. With that in mind, he relented.

"My predecessor loved Gothic architecture. He used to show me all of the medieval churches and cathedrals in London when I was small. He would tell me 'that is the epitome of culture in the civilised world'. I shared his opinion because he was such a wise man. Even after my…experiences in the city, I still share his belief. Does that make me weak?" Ciel said earnestly. Sebastian's eyes offered nothing.

"I believe the question is rhetorical." The demon said. The boy understood the cue.

"Does that make me weak? No, of course not. It just means I share his enthusiasm." Sebastian nodded in satisfaction.

"Exactly." His attention drifted back in the direction of the photography stall. "I believe our targets may be preparing for an appearance. Shall we?"

"Anything to avoid this torturous discussion."

Upon returning to the stall, Ciel was quick to notice the presence of an unscrupulous-looking man in a top hat and opera cloak hovering nearby. Hooded blue eyes and a hawk-like nose only added the impression of him being a predator in search of a fresh meal. The man was watching those being photographed with an unusually intense interest and the boy only felt his suspicions growing with every passing moment the figure lingered there. Then his attention was completely taken up by the photographer's voice.

"And smile, my lord and lady…there we are." It was a familiar tone followed by a familiar sinister cackle. Ciel watched as the photographer emerged from beneath his sheet and found himself confronted with the same long gray hair, scarred face and crooked top hat he had encountered so many times before. Undertaker. Undertaker was still here, amongst the living. "Come back in an hour and I'll have a print ready for you to collect. Who's next?" He was even still wearing his black robes, as if the century in-between their last meeting and this had been but an instant. Ciel eyed him in disbelief for several moments before becoming aware the former Grim Reaper was staring back at him. He averted his eyes quickly but heard Undertaker declare he was on break for the next fifteen minutes and the undeniable advance of feet in his direction.

"Oh my…" Ciel heard Undertaker murmur from only a foot away, "my favourite earl of the realm has returned from the abyss…and with his magnificent butler no less." Unable to deny the allegations, the boy reluctantly gazed up into the reaper's bi-coloured eyes. He could see the excitement building in them. It filled him with dread.

"What on earth are you doing here? Shouldn't you be engaged in another ill-fated venture to resurrect the recent dead?"

"Well, there's little point if your demon has beaten me to it. A grafted soul on a host body…ingenious solution to the problem of physical decay. Underneath the disguise though…are you the same lovely creature I remember or an abomination against natural law?" Undertaker murmured in admiration and mistrust. Ciel sighed.

"Do you want to blow the whistle or are you merely an idiot?"

"Another investigation, is it? And you weren't going to lean on me for information? You are silly. Come, let's go somewhere more private and discuss matters."

They adjourned to one of the theatre's old dressing rooms, far away from the crowds and indiscriminate smartphone videos. Once there, Ciel stayed close to Sebastian. There was no telling what an additional century had done to Undertaker's already warped mind. The boy was in mood to be dragged down into another plot regarding shambling monsters or wayward corpses, not in the modern world and not with this particular brand of crazy. He folded his arms, leaned back against the far wall and scrutinised his past informant warily.

"I hope you aren't expecting jokes in exchange for your information: in this age, your kind are not the only wellsprings of intelligence to drink from. I doubt there is any information you can give which I cannot find on the internet." Ciel began to open their dialogue in the frostiest manner possible. Undertaker grinned.

"All up to speed on mankind's great advancements, are you Earl Phantomhive?"

"It's Ciel. First names only these days. We must keep with the times." The boy corrected him to earn a cackle of amusement.

"Oh yes. Humans and your 'contempory conventions'. Such a strange species you all are. But you're the strangest thing of all…Ciel. You're not like them anymore…you're like us, me and your demon butler, neither living nor dead. You sit in between the worlds now. Why concern yourself with the concerns of the living at all?"

"I'm not here for a philosophical debate. I am here to find a murderer…as usual. How long have you been coming to this gathering?" Ciel said, cutting through the patter like a knife through butter. Undertaker was magnanimous enough in giving a simple answer.

"Ooh, since it all began. I enjoy reliving the glory days of my career."

"But you're a Grim Reaper, not a photographer. Failing that, you were almost a passable undertaker: why come to this nonsense and take photographs?"

"What makes you think I'm taking photographs at all?" Undertaker said before mimicking the snap of a camera lens. Ciel rolled his eyes.

"Then what are you doing, pray tell?"

"Cataloguing souls, of course, my favourite hobby. My camera acts as a filter. If they possess a good soul, the negative is pure white. If they possess a darker soul, the negative is normal. If they possess the kind of black soul you were so famous for, what colour do you suppose the negative is?"

"Black?"

"Very good. So that's my reason for attending. They pale in comparison to cataloguing cinematic records, of course, but I make do."

"Ever see a man with three fingers loitering nearby?"

"No, not that I recall. I'm not always diligent counting the number of fingers a customer has in any case."

"Well, how about that hawk-nosed weirdo standing to one side: see him often at these gatherings?"

"He's a regular at these occasions. Likes to chat with my customers once the photos are all done and dusted." The former reaper offered before turning his attentions to Sebastian. "Do you not talk anymore, Mr. Butler? Has he cut out your tongue altogether these days?"

"You seem weathered." Sebastian remarked, "Is exile beginning to grate on you?"

"It's not really exile as I see it, merely a prolonged vacation. And I'm still quite enjoying it. How is immortality treating you?"

"Tell us more about your hawk-nosed man. Does he only talk to your customers or is there some kind of transaction involved?" The demon said to cut off Undertaker's line of enquiry without any kind of subtlety. Again, the former reaper did not seem offended by this hard-line stance.

"You mean is he from the Library order?" Ciel could not help his eyes widening in a mixture of shock and fascination. Perhaps the answers they wanted were only moments away. He nodded once.

"Yes. So?"

"Oh, most definitely. He's one of their most senior members, maybe even the founder himself."

"How do you know?"

"You can't be in an occult order without the occult knowing about it. I photographed him once. His soul was blacker than yours…Ciel, no mean feat. Plus, most of the people he talks to at length wind up floating in the Thames or in Hackney alleyways and parks. Seems obvious when you think about it that way."

"Does he have a name?"

"You know, I've been amicable enough; for no reward, that's as amicable as I'll be. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to my stall. Plenty more money to be made." Undertaker turned his back and began to open the door to leave. Ciel bit his tongue.

"And what reward would you like to furnish us with his name?" The boy said. Their informant paused at the open door for a moment.

"I thought the internet would tell you whatever I did not."

"We might as well save some time. What do you want?" Undertaker closed the door and turned.

"I want to see your face again. Your real face."

"You know where my corpse is buried. Go dig me up if you're that desperate."

"I know if your butler was successful that you'd have your own face and body to walk in: maybe not the genuine articles your soul was first bonded with, but very close replicas. So let's see your angelic face again." The former reaper declared taking a seat in an abandoned chair as if expecting a whole performance to accompany the reveal. Ciel scoffed.

"That would be impractical with the amount of make-up and prosthetics I am wearing."

"Not with your demon's skills. He could have you unmasked and then dollied back up again in no time. What do you say…Ciel?" Undertaker countered. The boy hated that Sebastian's skills were so encompassing that the demon's presence could actually weaken his bargaining position. Negotiation with Undertaker had never been a smooth process: they were always snags. Ciel considered.

"I want his full name for this. Understand?"

"Completely. So?"

"Sebastian, would you kindly?"

"Yes. One moment…"

The demon did not only remove his disguise, but also divested him of his padding and stilts too. Less than three minutes later, he stood before their guest in the powder-blue suit he had elected to wear beneath his disguise, in case of difficulties. That he felt so comfortable sporting such clothes as opposed to his modern garments irked him. Undertaker gazed in silence for several drawn-out minutes before Ciel decided that was enough of a liberty for this transaction of theirs.

"What is his name? Tell me now."

"Harold Wishaw. The Fourth."

"Related to Lord Wishaw of Cambridge I take it?" Ciel said recalling the name from the guest lists of several social occasions he was forced to attend. He had never met the man in person. Undertaker nodded.

"A direct descendant of that scandalous man. Not as wealthy though. Father lost a lot of the family fortune with gambling debts."

"I like motives. Sebastian, dress me back up and let's have a talk with Mr Wishaw."

"Yes, My Lord."


End file.
